Undone
by Qwae29
Summary: Xanatos hates Qui-Gon Jinn, but he does not want kill his former master. No, he wants him to suffer... and so Xanatos strikes where he knows it will hurt the Jedi Master most... his new padawan.
1. Withdrawal

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters or elements of the universe found in the story below. They are all property of George Lucas, Disney, et al.

**A/N:** I make is post with GREAT hesitation... I am uncomfortable posting the first part of a story before I have at least drafted through the majority of the tale, but this one has been gnawing at me and it demands to be posted now. I fear my muse has grown bossy. So, here is the long and short of it my friends... I will update this story as inspiration allows (though the goal is still once a week-ish), but you have my word that will be completed... eventually... That said... hope you enjoy.

**A/N 2:** Also this is my first JA timeframe story. Obi-Wan is 13. I start with the JA canon, but then move my own way...

If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!

**Please R&R!**

"_**Undone"**_

**Chapter 1 – Withdrawal**

Day – 99

_(the present)_

Ripped.

Snatched.

Stolen.

He was stolen from him. Taken away from right under him. This is why he never wanted another padawan. It was because of what he feels now that he had purposefully hardened his heart, encased it in durasteel, and allowed it to freeze over as he hid it away from the world. But in time he had relented. He had allowed the boy to sneak his way past his defenses, past his stubbornness and touch the dark hole of his grief. And slowly, piece by piece the boy had put an old man back together, his heart scarred, but healed.

Now, the boy gone, his work comes undone. The old wound tears open. The pieces collapse in on themselves falling into a jumbled, disjointed heap. He is broken again. The fracture, he knows, if far worse than before. The fragments are too small, the cracks too numerous. He knows the longer the boy is lost to him, the more irreparable the damage and should he never return... the thought alone is nearly enough to end him.

Qui-Gon sits on his sleeping couch, his elbows resting on his knees, the heels of his palms pressed hard into his eyes trying to hold back the torrent that, if released, would certainly drown him.

He had tried to be strong. For twenty weeks, nearly three standard months, he had held his doubts at bay and clung tenaciously to hope. He followed every lead, investigated every avenue only to be led around blind turns that revealed only dead ends. Everyday he asked the Force for guidance. He begged it for some comfort some reassurances that his padawan lived; that his padawan would return to him. But the Force remained aloof, distant. It provided no answers, no light, no peace. That, by itself, had to begun to wear on the old man, but it wasn't until yesterday that Qui-Gon Jinn lost his faith. It was the day when the Force he had loved and served his entire life turned cruel. For weeks he had pleaded to the Force to send him a sign to let him know that his apprentice still lived on the other side of their silent bond. Yesterday the Force finally answered.

_ Qui-Gon had been meditating with Master Yoda in the Grand Master's private chambers when the bond shared between he and his padawan flared to life. In a sudden rush, Qui-Gon was slammed by one hundred emotions at once, but one feeling stood out amongst the chorus- pain. His padawan was in pain. He was being tortured and with their now open bond, his master felt every lash, every burn, every cut inflicted upon the boy. The agony was unyielding and merciless. Qui-Gon fell back off his floor cushion, curling into a ball, mewling like an infant in distress. The pain was unbearable and yet he and his apprentice were forced to bear it because there was nowhere to hide from it. The promise of unconsciousness kept out of reach by the multitude of drugs Qui-Gon could feel coursing through the boy's system._

_A clawed, green hand tried to calm the Jedi. It urged him to close the bond, but he could not for if the sensation of his padawan's suffering was overwhelming, the next sensation was devastating. The boy's screams carried over the bond; first incoherent, then pleading, begging to any who would listen to make the pain stop. But the pain did not stop. It continued to hammer away without mercy, without compassion, without compromise until nothing remained. Then came the moment that shattered the older Jedi. It was the moment he felt his padawan break._

_The bond closed. The Force had given its answer. To know that his padawan lived, the Force allowed Qui-Gon to feel the moment his apprentice longed for death. The answer was as clear as it was brutal._

How he made it to his quarters, the old master did not know, but he has not left since. What once was full lays empty. What once was a home now is like foreign soil. What once was a sanctuary is now a tomb. Here, in the darkness, Qui-Gon ceases his struggles and allows himself to sink down into his inner depths. Down past his thoughts. Down past his pain. Down past himself. What he is doing is not the way of the Jedi, but it doesn't matter because he is not a Jedi at the moment. He is not a master. He is not a man. He is a collection of failures, an amorphous mass of sorrow and guilt. And so he permits himself to fall carelessly, effortlessly into the gaping maw of inky blackness where once his soul resided.

Tahl is the first to try and the first to fail. In the past, she had always been able to talk to him. She could always provide him the safe harbor he sought when he was adrift in the violent seas of his inner turmoil. When he lost Xanatos to the Dark, Tahl found her ministrations lacking. She could not heal so deep a wound as the wayward padawan had left, but she had tended it, cleaned it, and kept it from festering.

Now this hurt she finds to be beyond her care. She cannot reach him. Without moving, he has pulled far away from her, from everyone, from the galaxy—far away, far enough where none can touch him, where none can hurt him. She kneels before him and forces dark blue eyes to meet green and gold stripped ones. Her eyes reflect concern. His eyes reflect emptiness. It is a feeling heavier than mere nothingness. It is a deathly void as powerful as black hole. He is a hollowed man.

Masters Yoda and Windu are next to try, but they too fail. He has withdrawn so far into himself that even the ancient master cannot touch him. It is cold, where Qui-Gon is, cold and blessedly numb.

Master Windu kneels beside the Grand Master as they both hover in the doorway.

"I've never seen him quite like this before. Even after Xanatos..." the Korun Master starts, but his voice trails off as the words he needs escape him. "Perhaps we should call a Soul Healer."

"Help it would not," Master Yoda sighs. His voice sinks lower as if physically weighted by the sadness in his heart as his looks upon his former pupil. "Pulled away he has. Choose to return to us he must," the wizened Master answers. Windu shakes his head.

"I don't believe he will choose to unless we find Obi-Wan."

"Find him we must or two lives we will lose."

"It has been three months with no leads and _He_ has sent no further messages," Master Windu responds grimly. Master Yoda closes his eyes, his chin resting peaceably on small hands atop a gimer stick. Mace knows the expression on the old master's face, so he waits patiently for his mentor to finish his communion with the Force. After several silent moments, green ears twitch and green lids rise to disclose golden orbs that seem to reflect both sorrow and hope simultaneously.

"Search for Kenobi we need not," Yoda says as he looks confidently at his fellow council member. "Find us the lost padawan will."


	2. Bruises

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

**A/N:** So, this update comes rather quickly (mostly because I have been sick and thankfully excused from work). They say misery loves company so I decided to call my old friends Qui and Obi to join me in my misery as I recover from my body's attempted coup!

**Thanks:**

Princesslolitatheorca654: Glad you like it!

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 2 – Bruises **

Day – 0

Master Jinn stood at the door to his apartment for several minutes as he released his anger into the Force. That particular emotion was dispatched easily enough, but the old man was having a far more difficult time parting with his frustration and disappointment.

Qui-Gon sighed heavily, then palmed open the door and stepped inside. He casually looked around the apartment. His apprentice was nowhere to be seen. He closed his eyes and reached out over their bond. Obi-Wan was in his room hiding behind closed doors and heavy shields, yet even so, brief wisps of anxiety leaked across the bond confirming the boy's worry like sea spray confirmed the presence of an ocean.

"Padawan."

A door quietly opened. A sheepish looking teenager stepped out, his head down, his fingers nervously pulling at the hem of his robes. At first Qui-Gon thought the boy was staring at his boots simply to avoid his master's gaze, but as he studied his apprentice further it seemed Obi-Wan was hiding something else from him.

"Come here, Padawan," he said his voice stern, but not hard. Obi-Wan obeyed and stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of his master. Qui-Gon noticed that the boy had still not raised his head and the old master had a reasonable suspicion why.

"There is no sense trying to hide. Let me see," he gently ordered. Obi-Wan sighed, but obediently lifted his head so that his master could properly see his face. As the old man suspected a deep purple and black bruise rested puffily around the boy's right eye. Qui-Gon's finger traced the outside edge of the bruise. He saw his apprentice wince under even this light touch. For a moment, the paternal part of Qui-Gon considered using the Force to speed the healing of the black eye, but the mentor in him thought perhaps this lesson might be better learnt if the discomfort remained.

"Sit," he said as he gestured to the large couch of their common room. Obi-Wan complied and slogged dejectedly to his seat. He slouched into the cushions and absently wrung his hands. Qui-Gon went into the compact kitchen and retrieved a small flimsiplast bag that he began to fill with ice. He then returned to his charge and handed him the compress which the student both reluctantly accepted and dutifully placed against his swollen face.

"Now, my young apprentice, care to explain how this occurred?" Qui-Gon asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. Obi-Wan glanced up at his master with his uncovered eye before returning his gaze to the floor, a flush creeping up his ears.

"There is no excuse, Master. I let my anger control my actions. I know better than to do that," he paused. "I'm sorry."

"You are right, Padawan and I am very disappointed in you." Qui-Gon could see the boy wince under his words, but he continued. "There is no excuse for your behavior, but I would like to know the _reason_ for it," Qui-Gon finished. The old man had already been told the gist of the situation by the boy's saber instructor who had caught him fighting with an initiate, Bruck Chun. Qui-Gon was well aware that Bruck had been somewhat of a bully to Obi-Wan over the years, but now that Obi-Wan was a padawan Qui-Gon had hoped the boy had outgrown Bruck's bullying taunts. It was now clear to the master that that was not the case.

Obi-Wan raised a cautious eye to his master who greeted the boy's unspoken inquiry with a raised eyebrow. Obi-Wan sighed defeatedly.

"You know how he is, Master. I tried to ignore him. I tried to remain calm and just walk away, but... Bruck always knows..." he said his voice trailing off until his last words were lost to Qui-Gon.

"Bruck always knows what?" he asked. Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably. He looked away from his master before answering.

"He always knows exactly where it hurts," the boy answered quietly.

Qui-Gon knew his apprentice was not referring to any physical pain as he felt something stir within the boy. A deep sense of shame and sadness permeated across the bond despite Obi-Wan's attempt to shield himself. Qui-Gon thought carefully before speaking. He did not want to pain the child further, but he had to get to the root if the problem were to be resolved.

"What did he say to you?" he asked finally. Obi-Wan's head snapped up at his master in horror. Such was the padawan's fear that he failed to notice that his ice pack had dropped out of his hand and fallen to the floor with a muted thump. It had never occurred to the boy that his master would want to know _what_ Bruck said that had driven him to anger. Qui-Gon could see the plea in his apprentice's uninjured eye and though his heart ached, his face remained neutral and his gaze still awaited an answer. Obi-Wan shook his head and stared at his master's boots.

"Please, Master. It's... personal. I'd rather not say."

"It was not a request, Padawan," his master replied. Obi-Wan's frame trembled for a moment, then stilled as he desperately fought to hold back tears. Qui-Gon waited patiently for the boy to collect himself.

"He said that...," Obi-Wan started weakly, his voiced choked on the lump lodged deep in his throat. He paused, took a deep breath and began again. "He said that bringing me back from Bandomeer was... a mistake. That it was only a matter of time before you and the Council realized that... it was... the _will_ of the Force that I not be trained as a knight. That I... didn't deserve... to be a Jedi... That you only took me as your padawan out of pity..." Obi-Wan finished. He had thought hearing himself say the words aloud had been uncomfortable, but the quiet that followed felt far worse. Just before the silence became to deafening, Qui-Gon sighed.

"Look at me," he said softly. When Obi-Wan didn't respond he tried a sterner approach. "Padawan."

As he expected, Obi-Wan would not disobey what he perceived as a direct order from his master. Slowly, blue-grey eyes rose to meet dark blue ones.

"Do you believe it?"

"Master?"

"Do you believe what Bruck told you?" he asked again. Obi-Wan shook his head emphatically.

"No, Master. Of course, not," he replied. Qui-Gon continued his quiet stare. Obi-Wan strained uncomfortably under his master's gaze and finally he stopped shaking his head. He eyes dropped to once again scrutinize the patch of floor in front of his boots.

"Yes... sometimes... maybe...," he answered softly. For several moments the deafening silence returned.

"I think you should spend the next few hours meditating on your actions. When I return we will speak more on this," Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan lifted his gaze, his uninjured eye opened wide.

"But... but I was supposed to go swimming with Bant and Garen," he pleaded.

"That was before."

"But, you said yesterday that I could."

"Obi-Wan,"

"But you said,"

"Do not try my patience further, Padawan," Qui-Gon interrupted his voice low and his words slow and punctuated. Obi-Wan's mouth immediately snapped shut. He looked once again at the floor. His shoulders slumped as he took a deep breath and calmed himself before he addressed his master again. After several seconds, he looked up.

"May I at least let them know that I'm not coming?" he asked his tone soft and respectful.

"I will inform their masters," Qui-Gon answered. Obi-Wan nodded and started towards his room. "You are to meditate and remain in these quarters until I return."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said turning briefly to his master. He then went into his room and closed his door behind him. Qui-Gon let out a heavy sigh. The boy wasn't the only one who needed some time in deep meditation, but he didn't want to do it here. No, he would go where he could be immersed in the Living Force. Without further thought, Qui-Gon left the apartment and made his way to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Once there, he went to his favorite spot, an alcove by shallow pond shaded by a small tree. Quickly, he pulled out his comm. and contacted Bant and Garen's masters to inform them of Obi-Wan's absence. That business taken care of, he kneeled down, closed his eyes, and began to breathe deeply. He allowed his thoughts to drift back to Obi-Wan. The shame and sorrow he had felt from the boy disturbed him. Qui-Gon knew of his padawan's insecurities, particularly because he felt responsible for causing or at least exacerbating most of them. He knew that his initial rejections of the boy had caused Obi-Wan to further doubt his self-worth. He continually questioned his place within the Order and his place at Qui-Gon's side. The deep seeded fear that he would be abandoned by the Jedi... abandoned by his master was a shadow ever gnawing at the boy's heart.

Qui-Gon allowed himself another heavy sigh. Obi-Wan would have to get over his fear and Qui-Gon needed to find a way to help him do it, but the master was at a loss as to how. How could he convince the child that it was, in fact, the _will_ of the Force that he _took_ him as his padawan and that his initial reluctance was because of his _master's_ failings not his own?

The old master took another deep breath and allowed himself to fall deeper into the Force. He could feel its warm eddies and currents pass through him and over him. He felt wrapped in an almost palpable serenity, but something was... off. There was a whisper, a slight tugging in the back of his mind. A warning? Qui-Gon tried to focus on the niggling, but every time he tried to grasp it, it seeped through his fingers like a fistful of sand.

Mildly frustrated and no closer to any of the answers he sought, Qui-Gon opened his eyes. It had been several hours since he had left his padawan. Obi-Wan would be tired and hungry by now.

Qui-Gon headed back to the apartment. Maybe he would just tell Obi-Wan the truth, straight forward and plainly. He would simply make the boy understand how special and truly wanted he was. Yes, Qui-Gon would not rest until his apprentice knew and _believed_ that he was meant to be a Jedi and that he was honored to be his master.

Qui-Gon entered the dark apartment. It was quiet and Obi-Wan's door was still closed. The master didn't bother to reach out with the Force. Instead he just went to his apprentice's door and knocked.

"Padawan?" he called, but there was no response. Perhaps the boy had fallen asleep. "Obi-Wan?" he called a bit louder, but still he was greeted only with silence. Qui-Gon opened the door to Obi-Wan's room. The small room was empty. Qui-Gon frowned. He had given the boy strict orders to remain in the apartment and it was not like his padawan to blatantly disobey his orders. He closed his eyes and reached out to their bond. He was met with... a void. Obi-Wan's side of the bond, the usually bright, warm light ever present in his master's mind, was now silent and empty. A feeling of extreme unease settled in the core of the master's body as the reality of the situation washed over him.

Obi-Wan was missing.


	3. No Safe Quarter

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

**A/N:** Here's chapter three. I hope you are enjoying it... and still reading it. For some reason, this particular collection of words I loosely refer to as a story seem to speak to me. I hope that maybe it will speak to you as well. Please, your comments and feedback (good, bad, and in-between) are not only welcomed, but treasured.

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 3 - No Safe Quarter**

Day – 0

It should have been impossible. He knew that. If his apprentice had gone missing on a mission that would be one thing, but to go missing from the Temple? It was not only unheard of, it should not have been possible.

Qui-Gon had checked the gardens, the training salles, even the Healer's Ward, a place Obi-Wan would never have entered voluntarily, and found nothing. He had visited the master's of his apprentice's closest friends, Bant, Garen, Reeft and Quinlan. None of them had seen him.

Now, Qui-Gon stood before another master's apartment door, but this time he found himself hesitating. He closed his eyes, tightened his shields, and tamped down the panic trying to gain a foothold in the pit of his stomach. He pushed the door chime and waited. He did not wait long. The door slid open and there stood another Jedi. He was as tall as Qui-Gon, but his skin was deep russet and his head was bald.

"Qui-Gon," Master Windu greeted pleasantly, but then he noticed the subtle waves of anxiety rolling off his friend's Force signature. "What has happened?"

"Obi-Wan is missing," he answered flatly. Windu stepped aside allowing Qui-Gon entry into his quarters.

"I'm starting to worry, Mace," Qui-Gon said as he took a seat on the couch. Master Windu closed the door then took a seat across from his distraught age mate. Windu leaned back into his chair and steepled his fingers. Qui-Gon absently carded his long, dark bistre locks before speaking. Mace waited patiently for the other Jedi to collect his thoughts.

"He was in a fight earlier today and I left him in our quarters to meditate on his actions and his punishment. When I returned, he was gone," Qui-Gon paused to clear the small catch he felt form in his throat. "It is not like him to disobey me. I have checked with his friends and with the Healers. No one has seen him."

"And your bond?"

"Is completely silent. I feel nothing from him," Qui-Gon answered. Mace's brow furrowed and his characteristic frown returned to his face. After a few moments thought, Mace stood and crossed to the comm. panel.

"Temple security."

"Master Lo-Cha," Mace said in greeting. The Iktotchi Jedi on the screen nodded in deference to the Council member.

"How may I be of service, Master Windu?"

"We have a missing padawan. Kenobi. I want you to organize some knights to search the Temple grounds. The child may be unconscious or injured. Also, his master and I will need to see the security footage outside the Jinn/Kenobi apartment starting from..." Mace paused as he turned to Qui-Gon.

"1500 hours," he supplied. Mace turned back to the comm. screen.

"1500 hours," he answered. "We will join you shortly."

"I will start immediately, Master," Lo-Cha noded then he terminated the link. Mace paused silently by the comm. panel before turning around.

"I think we should alert Master Yoda," he said. Qui-Gon gave no verbal response only a curt nod before returning his chin to its position of rest on his interlaced fingers. Mace eyed his long time friend for a moment more before turning back to the comm. panel.

"Master Yoda."

"A problem there is. A disturbance I have felt," the wizened Jedi stated rather than asked. Mace nodded grimly.

"Yes. Master Jinn's padawan, Obi-Wan, is missing."

"Sense him he cannot." Another statement. Mace didn't stop to ponder how the Grand Master always seemed to be one step ahead when being given information—telling the answer instead of asking the question. Over the years, the Korun Council member had just grown accustomed to the quasi-precognizant green entity.

"He cannot."

"Hmmph," Yoda paused, his small clawed hand tapped his chin. "To my chambers when done with Master Lo-Cha you are."

"Yes, Master," Mace said with a bow of his head. He ended the transmission. When he turned around Qui-Gon was already on his feet.

"Let's go," he said and then he immediately left the apartment, Mace followed right behind. The two Jedi traversed the grand corridors of the Temple in silence—one not wanting to give voice to the terrible, anxious images laying siege to his thoughts, the other not knowing the words to use to bring any comfort to his friend. So they carried on in silence until they reached the Temple's Security Station. Once the two stepped inside, Master Lo-Cha moved to meet them.

"Masters," he nodded. Mace and Qui-Gon politely nodded back. The Iktotchi Master gestured to the main security station which was flanked by one large holo-monitor on both sides and one large monitor directly in front.

"I've dispatched four Knights to sweep the building with the assistance of the Temple Guards. I also have droids checking the services entrances and maintenance hatches. If the padawan is in the Temple we will find him," he said speaking directly to Jinn who nodded. All three Masters stood before the main station as a young Cerean male with long black hair manned the console. Lo-Cha rested a hand on the youth's shoulder.

"This is my padawan, Bur-Lan-Ty," Lo-Cha introduced as the young man swiveled around in his seat to greet the masters. Both Jedi nodded in acknowledgement. "Bur-Lan has pulled the footage you requested, though we have not had an opportunity to view it," Lo-Cha finished as his apprentice swiveled back to face his console and key in the necessary commands. Instantly, an image of the corridor outside Jinn's apartment appeared on all three holo-monitors. Each displayed a slightly different angle.

"So, this is the hall at 1500 hours," the Cerean said then he pushed a button and the time frame sped forward. He released the button as a tall, robed figure exited the quarters.

"That's when I left for meditation in the gardens," Qui-Gon stated.

"And where was your padawan at that time?" Master Lo-Cha asked.

"Meditating in his room with orders not to leave until I returned," Qui-Gon answered. He leaned forward resting one hand on the outer edge of the console and one on the back of Bur-Lan's seat.

"Speed it up again," he told the apprentice who dutifully obeyed. "Stop! There!" Qui-Gon yelled. As requested, the image on the monitors froze.

"Who is that? Another Jedi? Were you expecting someone to visit your quarters?" Master Windu asked as all four Jedi stared at the back of the hooded figure that stood outside Qui-Gon's door.

"No, but perhaps he may have noticed something that may shed some light," Qui-Gon muttered. "What is the time index?"

"1820 hours," Bur-Lan replied.

"Un-pause it," Lo-Cha instructed his apprentice. With push of a button, the figure on the monitors palmed the door to the Jinn/Kenobi quarters open and stepped inside.

"He did not request entry," Mace noted. "Perhaps, Obi-Wan had expected him?"

"I do not know," was Qui-Gon's only answer. "He seems familiar, but I still can't place him," he murmurs, mostly to himself. The four waited, three of them patiently, one less so, as they watched the monitors the minutes ticking away in real time. Finally, the door opened and out stepped the hooded figure once again except this time he carried a very large, reinforced duffle bag. Then the figure did something completely unexpected. He looked directly into one of the cameras. The face was that of a young man with pale skin, somewhat delicate features, and piercing azure eyes. On his cheek he bore a distinctive scar.

"Xanatos," Qui-Gon growled. As if on cue, a cruel smile spread across the young man's face. He patted the duffle bag lightly and winked at the camera. A realization took hold. A gasped followed.

"He has Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon whispered to no one, his eyes locked on the screen before him. Xanatos reached into his cloak and placed _something_ on or near the camera. He smiled again and gave a tiny nod to the camera before continuing down the hall with his prize. Mace turned abruptly to Master Lo-Cha.

"I want you to review all of the footage for today. I want to know how he got in and how he got out."

"Yes, Master," Lo-Cha answered with a quick nod. Mace turned to Qui-Gon who simply nodded, already knowing the Councilor's thoughts. Hurriedly, but not running, the pair of Jedi made their way to Qui-Gon's quarters. As soon as they entered the corridor, Qui-Gon immediately crossed over to the camera in question; subtly mounted in a faux sconce located high on the wall. He patted around and his fingers brushed against a small, round object. He removed it, stepped back, and shared his finding with Mace.

"A holo-recorder," Mace stated needlessly. Qui-Gon wasted no time activating the device. A tiny, blue image of his former apprentice sprang to life.

"Hello, Master," the holo-Xanatos smiled as he gave his intended audience a mocking bow. "It's been a long time. They say you can never go home again, but... I found it rather easy. You may want to consider stepping up security. You wouldn't want the wrong kind of people just walking in..." he paused and smiled. "You know, being in the Temple again, walking the old hallways, seeing our old quarters, being in my old room... it has left me rather nostalgic. I can't help but think about all the things lost to me since that time... all the things I will never again have... all the things that _You_ took from me!" the holo-Xanatos yelled, his rage evident in the harsh lines of his expression. "But," he began, his voice returning the calm and cold timber of before. "I cannot get those things you stole from me back so instead I have chosen to settle for an exchange. A future for a future. A life for a life," he finished his tone unmistakably dark. "Feel free to meditate on that, Master. I'll be in touch."

* * *

The message terminated and the Council chamber was plunged into a heavy silence. Qui-Gon's expression was unaffected by the holo-recording as by now he had heard it many times. First in the hall with Mace then again with Master Yoda in his chambers, and now in the Council room, but these instances were but a whisper compared to the number of times the master had replayed the message in his head. Each time he studied every word, every expression, every inflection, gesture, intonation, looking for something, _anything_ that might reveal a clue to help find Obi-Wan. But Qui-Gon knew from experience that Xanatos would reveal only want he wanted and nothing more. The old master was forced to be patient—a skill learned early in the life of a Jedi and a skill that quickly waned from this particular Jedi with each passing moment.

"You said you felt something during your meditation?" Master Adi Gallia questioned breaking the uneasy silence. Qui-Gon nodded.

"Yes. It was very strange, but very faint. I... I was unable to recognize it for what it was," he said shaking his head in frustration. "I know now that it was a warning."

"Yes," Master Yoda interrupted. "A disturbance I felt. Clouded it was."

"How did he even get in?" Master Even Piell's heavily accented voice sounded in the chamber. Master Windu shook his head and steepled his fingers.

"Based on Master Lo-Cha's review of the security footage for the Temple Xanatos was able to simply walk in. However," he paused. "Not long after leaving the corridor outside Jinn's quarters he simply disappears from view."

"Disappears? Caught him leave no camera did?" Master Yaddle questioned.

"No," Mace replied. "However he left he managed to avoid _all_ of our surveillance."

"And we have no leads as to where he may have taken the boy?" Master Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.

"None," Qui-Gon answered succinctly. His jaw was clenching and unclenching as his patience continued to evaporate under, in his view, the unnecessary discussion. It wasn't the time for words, it was time for action. With each passing second his apprentice and his captor drew further and further away.

"And still you can sense nothing through your training bond?" Master T'un asked. Qui-Gon sighed.

"Nothing, Master. I can still feel his presence. It is muted though... distant," he said as he closed his eyes. He searched the bond again, but the result was the same. Silence. He opened his eyes and looked to the Council.

"I can only sense that he is alive," Qui-Gon finished sadly. Master Yoda looked at his former pupil, his golden eyes brimming with compassion and resolve.

"Continue the search for him we will, but trust in the Force we must."


	4. The Waiting Game

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

**A/N:** Here's chapter four. I apologize if anyone thinks this is moving too slowly. I just feel compelled to let it proceed at its own pace. Never before have I had a story (or its characters) dictate its (their) needs as strongly as this. As a result, I have decided to simply shut up and do what I'm told! Hope you like it!

**Thanks:**

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**Chapter 4 – The Waiting Game**

Day – 15

Three weeks. Three whole standard weeks had passed and still there was nothing. Nothing. Not one clue. Not one lead. Not one word or feeling. It was like the dark of the galaxy swallowed the boy up and with it threatened to extinguish a true, bright light of the Force.

"No I must not think that way," the weary master reminded himself. It was an ever constant rebuke he imposed on himself each day's long and hellish hours.

In the beginning time passed quickly. Almost too so, the minutes and hours racing to keep time with the unnaturally hastened tattoo of the master's heart. First they closed off the spaceports. No small feat on the immense city planet. The Coruscant Security Agency was put on high alert. Images of Xanatos and Obi-Wan were placed on every available holo-surface. _Every_ available Knight and Master was sent out into the city to aid in the search. A temporary headquarters had been established inside the main offices of the CSA. Masters Qui-Gon Jinn and Ki-Adi-Mundi were assigned by the Council to head the search efforts. The two Jedi supervised the search teams remotely, allocated resources and liaised with the Council. In the early days, Qui-Gon advised search leaders and other Jedi on everything he knew about his former apprentice's thoughts, motives, and tactics. When the briefings were done, Qui-Gon and Ki closely observed each team's progress. In the spare moments between orders and updates, Qui-Gon searched the bond. Each probe proved fruitless, but each failure only strengthened his resolve.

That had been the routine for the first two weeks, but as the third week began Qui-Gon noticed fewer and fewer teams were dispatched. Resources were re-deployed to other security matters and all but a handful of Knights hand been recalled to the Temple, the Masters having left the week before. By day thirteen, their makeshift command post was reclaimed by its original owner and the Jedi supervisors were sent back to the Temple. Once the pair of Masters had returned, the Council member set off to perform any number of his previously neglected duties while Qui-Gon struggled to find an outlet for his need for activity, a focus for his anxious energy. So he walked. Long strides and booted heels carried him thoughtlessly down the corridors. When his feet finally came to a halt Qui-Gon was somewhat surprised and dismayed to find himself standing outside of his quarters, quarters he had not returned to since...

Qui-Gon felt a spear of ice pierce his stomach and slowly curl its icy fingers around his intestines. He had intentionally stayed away from this place. It hadn't proved that difficult a task. Meals had been served to the Jedi at the Agency, not that Qui-Gon had eaten any of the offerings. Sleep had been provided via a rear room that housed half a dozen sleep couches, not that Qui-Gon had slept or sought its refuge. No, he had far too much to do those days making avoidance easy, but now...

Qui-Gon palmed open the door and stepped inside. Everything about the apartment was just as he last left it. Every datapad, every memento, every pillow and indented seat cushion was exactly the same and yet somehow everything was horribly different. Upon closer examination, the old master found that the apartment was not real. It was not... right. The items he glimpsed were but shadows, dark reflections of a life shared. There was no warmth within these walls, no warmth and no life. This was a withered husk, a discarded carapace, a grotesque approximation of his former home. And he knew it would remain so until the boy returned.

He opened the door to his padawan's room. The old man knew what to expect, what he would see and yet the emptiness of it still clutched at his heart and stole his breath.

How long he stood there, breathless in the threshold he did not know. Not very long was likely as one typically cannot stand overly long without breathing. Still, reason aside, the old master would have sworn the time was nothing short of an eternity, the infinite length of its passing interrupted by the soft weight of a hand on his shoulder, a welcomed and honeyed voice in his ear.

"I came as soon as I could."

"Thank you," he murmured. He didn't turn around. His gaze stuck on the painfully empty bedroom, his thoughts locked on the sweet child who was taken from between its walls.

"Come," she said as she gently pulled him away from the threshold. He allowed her to move him, allowed her to guide his stiff and heavy legs over to the couch of his common room. She pushed him down to sit, her touch light, but firm. The female Jedi knelt before him, her gold and green stripped eyes staring worriedly at her friend's solemn expression and haggard appearance. Softly, she touched his cheek with the back of her hand. Instinctively, he leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

"Oh, Qui," she said her melodic voice just scarcely above a whisper. She remained there, still, for several moments before she pulled herself away. She journeyed to the kitchenette and filled the well-used teapot with water. She placed it on the cook top and then returned to her friend, this time sitting by his side.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine," he answered mechanically. Silence followed. Even without turning his head he could feel her glare upon him. He sighed and let himself fall back into the cushions of the couch.

"I'm managing," he finally answered as he let his head fall back and his gaze flit to the ceiling. "It has... not been easy..."

Satisfied with the truth, she pats his leg before disappearing back into the kitchen. After a few quiet moments she returned with two mugs. She handed one to Qui-Gon who took it with a weak, but sincere smile. He didn't drink from it right away. Instead, he simply stared at the calm, dark liquid his face betraying nothing of the conflict within. For several minutes, the two sit in nearly companionable silence.

"Tahl?"

"Yes, Qui?"

"The last time I spoke to him... it was a reprimand. I... I told him... I was disappointed," he said finally looking at her. "What if I never see him again? What if he," he started, but his panicked and guilt-ridden ramblings were halted by one of Tahl's thin fingers across his lips.

"No more of that, Qui-Gon Jinn," she said sternly. First surprised, then embarrassed, he finally nodded and she allowed her finger to drop from his mouth. She then took his hand nearest her and held it between her own.

"You told me yourself, quite convincingly I might add, that it was the will of the Force that you two were to become master and padawan or have you forgotten that? Honestly, Qui, sometimes I think you have the brains of a bantha," she smiled. Qui-Gon looked at his closest friend, finally _seeing_ her for the first time since she came into his quarters. Blunt honesty and scathing wit aside, he was grateful for her presence both in his life and at this moment. From inside her he could grasp the calm he so desperately needed, yet couldn't find within himself. He was closer to Tahl than anybody else in his life. She had known him since they were both eager initiates yearning to catch the eye of the one of Temple's esteemed knights or masters in hope of an apprenticeship and the fulfillment of the dream of knighthood. It was a dream shared by his current apprentice as well. That the boy's dream could now be in jeopardy shook the master to his core. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and took several calming breaths, drawing on Tahl's serenity to help foster his own and to allow some of his fear be released into the Force. He was unable, or perhaps unwilling, to let go of all his fear, but at least he was now unencumbered enough to think clearly once more.

"You are right," he answered finally as he patted the hands that encased his. "In both regards," he smiled back and in that smile Tahl was able to glimpse, albeit briefly, a hint of her old friend's true personality peek through the cloak of despair he currently wore.

"Oh my, you are in a bad way if you agree with me!" she replied in feigned horror. The two Jedi shared a meager laugh. It wasn't riotous or long, but it was genuine and welcomed.

"Alright," Tahl said after a few quiet minutes. "We're going to put some food in you and then, Master Jinn, you are going to bed," she proclaimed. Qui-Gon immediately stiffened.

"Tahl."

"Qui-Gon," she answered evenly. It only took a raise of a single eyebrow for the old man to realize this too was an argument he would not win.

"You know, there are times when I very much dislike you," he growled, but there was no frustration in his tone, only a sense of deep affection. Tahl weaved her arm around his and smiled mischievously.

"I know. It's odd how those are _exactly_ the times you need me most."

* * *

Despite his melancholic and half-hearted protests, Tahl made good on her promises and stuffed Qui-Gon full of Ghuhorian stew and then promptly sent him off to bed. Before he even had a chance to argue that, tired as he was, there was simply no way he would ever be able to sleep then she slapped him with a Force sleep suggestion that had all the gentleness and subtlety of a stim-enhanced gundark. Subtle it may not have been (he had received vicious blows that more gently eased him into unconsciousness), but as Qui-Gon awoke many hours later feeling more centered than he had felt in days, he couldn't argue with its effectiveness.

Qui-Gon reached over his head and stretched his weary muscles. Refreshed and clear headed, the master knew that now was the time to plan his next move, but with no clues and no leads what was he supposed to do? Where should he go? He didn't have these answers and, for a moment, frustration and despair prepared to steal his new found peace away from him, but then he remembered his training and Yoda's words. In this, as in all things, he would have to trust the Force. Without any further preamble or internal debate, Qui-Gon crossed to the middle of the floor of the common room and knelt down. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He let his mind rise high above and away from his worries and anxieties and then fully immersed himself in the brilliant wonder that was the Force. He allowed the Force to move freely through his being before he brought his concerns to bear. He thought of Xanatos, of Obi-Wan, of the galaxy, and the infinite majesty of the Force. The master put forth his queries and patiently waited for the Force's answers, but all that was offered was the continued feeling that he must be patient.

With a heavy sigh, Qui-Gon slowly brought himself out of his meditation. Just as he moved to his feet, his personal comm. beeped.

"Jinn," he answered as he brought the small unit nearer his face.

"Qui-Gon," Mace Windu's voice carried over the comm. "The Council requests your presence."

"Has there been any news about Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked unable to keep the faint, but powerful tinge of hope from his voice. For a moment the comm. was completely silent.

"No."

With that simple word, the stone that was the core of Qui-Gon's peace cracked horribly, but did not shatter. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

"I see," he answered flatly. "I'm on my way."

Qui-Gon grabbed his cloak and headed out the door. He walked with purposeful, long strides down the corridor ending at the ante chamber of the Council room. He stood there only a few moments before the double doors slid open beckoning him inside. The Jedi walked to the center of the room and bowed his head low.

"Masters," he said. It was only then that Qui-Gon noticed that the Council chambers were nearly empty. Only Master Yoda and Master Windu sat in attendance.

"If I had requested you simply meet with me you might have declined," Mace offered, answering the master's unspoken question. The fact that he had been manipulated into appearing irked Qui-Gon to no great end, but he decided that that... discussion could be addressed at a later time. It didn't mean, however, that he had to completely hide his annoyance though.

"And what was so urgent that deception was necessary to secure my presence?" he asked, his face neutral, his expression serene. He knew with his words he was walking a thin line between impertinence and downright disrespect, but it was a line this particular Jedi was familiar with and he knew it boundaries well. If the two Council members were disturbed by Qui-Gon's words they didn't show it letting the comment pass without rebuke.

"Concerned we are," Yoda responded to his question. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

"About?"

"You," Mace answered with a hint of incredulity and exasperation. "Despite your... opinions regarding certain Council decisions you must know that we are still your friends, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon nodded feeling a little abashed as all the traces of annoyance drained out of him in an instant.

"Of course. My apologies, Masters."

"How are you, Qui-Gon? I have to admit you certainly _look_ better since last I saw you," Mace smiled lightly. Qui-Gon answered with a wry grin of his own.

"Master Tahl paid me a visit."

"Ah, wise Jedi she is. Her counsel you should heed," Yoda informed him. Again Qui-Gon went to nod, but suddenly he felt his training bond with Obi-Wan flare to life and he was inundated with successive waves of emotions; fear, loneliness and despair the strongest. The initial burst was so strong it caused the Jedi to stagger back and place a hand on his throbbing skull. Then he _heard_ it.

_Master?_

_Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Where are you?_

_I'm... alright, Master, but I don't know where I am._

Qui-Gon allowed himself to breathe a little sigh of relief. At least the boy was unharmed... for now. He immediately sent wave after wave of love, comfort, and reassurance through the bond. He felt the boy's fear diminish slightly and a sense of calm began to grow.

_It's going to be alright, Padawan. I *will* find you. I promise._

Silence.

_Obi-Wan?_

Qui-Gon felt the boy's fear spike suddenly.

_He's here._

_Xanatos?_

_Yes... He... He wants be to tell you that... it's no fun if you're peeking and... that you'll hear from him soon._

_What? I don't understand, Padawan. What does he mean?_

Suddenly, the bond is flooded with blinding pain. Qui-Gon could feel his padawan's agony and it dropped him to his knees.

_Master!_

Obi-Wan screamed then Qui-Gon was hit with a mental sledge hammer as half the bond goes completely silent.

_Obi-Wan! Padawan! Answer me!_

Silence. This silence was deeper than before. From the bond Qui-Gon can feel... nothing, not even the barest hint that his padawan lives.

"Oh Gods no," he whispered, still on his hands and knees. The master's mind still reeled as he felt a pair of hands at his side. There were voices in his ears, but his wounded mind could not make sense of their words. For a long time he just knelt there, numb to his surroundings until slowly the fog of shock retreated from his mind and he was able to think again.

"Qui-Gon?" Mace asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"It was..." Qui-Gon began, startled by the weakness in his own voice. "It was Obi-Wan. Whatever veil Xanatos is using to block him was lifted."

"A reason had he?" Master Yoda said. He was standing a few feet in front of the kneeling form of the younger Master.

"He wanted Obi-Wan to deliver a message," Qui-Gon answered swallowing thickly. "He said it was no fun if I could peek and that... I would hear from him soon... Then I felt..." he paused as he forced himself to get a tighter reign on his rampant emotions. "I felt that my padawan was in great pain, torturous pain... Then the bond slammed shut. I feel nothing... not even his life source..."

"Alive your padawan is," Yoda said answering the question Qui-Gon had no intention of _ever_ asking. Mace nodded his head in agreement and then turned to his friend.

"He is trying to unbalance you," Mace said. Qui-Gon rocked back to sit on his heels, his head still hanging low.

"He is succeeding."


	5. Hide and Seek

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs.

**A/N:** Here's chapter five. Okay for those of you worried for our dear Obi, fear not for next update I promise you will be reunited... sort of... Guess you will have to read to know more!

**Thanks:**

Velveteen habbit: Thanks and don't worry you will get your wish soon; however, you should be careful what you wish for...

Guest: Don't fear! You will hear from Obi-Wan very soon! Perhaps even the next chapter...

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 5 – Hide and Seek**

Day – 15

"If hear him you can on Coruscant your padawan must be," Master Yoda said as he rested a tiny claw on the long-haired master's shoulders. Qui-Gon had not risen from his position on the floor of the Council chambers; the event that sent him to his knees still fresh in his mind.

Everything was so far out of hand, so unreal... He had just begun to let the shadow of his former padawan go so he could truly accept into his heart the sweet boy now in his charge. The old man knew he had wasted those first few moments with his apprentice. He had shunned him, rejected him not once, but three times. Thrice the child had reached for him and thrice the old fool had refused. Even when he finally took the boy's hand and agreed to guide him, the master had kept his distance; the fear left by the former child proved too great to overcome. More time wasted. Precious time. Only recently had he let the boy in. Only now was he getting to know the incredible young Jedi the Force itself had brought into his life and now... Now, the child had been taken from him, snatched nearly from his very arms. Perhaps this too was the will of the Force. As punishment for his earlier neglect, the Force would withhold from him the boy that had healed him, the light that had promised him redemption because the master had proven himself no longer worthy.

"Being punished you are not, tested though you may be," Yoda offered seeming to know the younger master's thoughts. Qui-Gon stared into the calm, golden eyes of the tiny Grand Master, his own eyes weighted with unshed tears, stony with unexpressed anger.

"If it is a test it should be mine, not his. He should not suffer for my failures," Qui-Gon replied his usually mellifluous baritone now gruff and jagged.

"A test of the bond it may be," Yoda nodded calmly. "Doubt you that the Force's will it was to pair master and apprentice, hmmm?"

"Never."

"Then trust in the pairing now you must. Trust in your apprentice. Trust in yourself and trust in the Force."

With a deep sigh and a centering breath, Qui-Gon finally nodded, his thoughts and emotions a little calmer as he considered the ancient master's words. After a few quite minutes he was able to rise to his feet, his clarity returning, his determination adding strength to his focus.

"It would make sense that Xanatos would keep him on Coruscant. He always liked to hide in plain sight to better see the devastation he had..." Qui-Gon's voice trailed off as a long buried memory rushed to the surface. Mace studied his friend for a moment, his usual frown deepening.

"What is it?"

"A strategy from a tyrant on the outer rim. A strategy that Xanatos would know far too well," Qui-Gon muttered. He then looked both Jedi in the eye. "Disruption. Demoralization. Distraction. He will use these three to reap devastation. The disruption is clear. He kidnapped Obi-Wan from, what should have been the safest place on Coruscant, the Temple."

"If you are correct, then demoralization will follow," Mace added. Qui-Gon nodded slowly, a pained expression flickering through his calm exterior.

"I feel that is the current stage. He will continue to torment me by tormenting Obi-Wan, but he will eventually seek to distract us from his ultimate goal."

"Yes, but what _is_ his ultimate goal? Obi-Wan? You? Or something else?" Mace asked.

"That I do not know," Qui-Gon answered gravely. Suddenly, the loud thud of Yoda's gimer stick striking the floor echoed throughout the chamber.

"Focus we should on the young one taken. On his recovery all else depends."

* * *

Day 16

It was decided the next day that Qui-Gon would be assigned a team of Jedi to assist in his search of the city-planet for his lost padawan. The Council met, discussed, and decided to leave the assignment of team members to Qui-Gon assuming he limited his selection to masters and knights already at the Temple and not ones currently on missions. For Qui-Gon the decision was easy. Two of his best friends, both masters in their own right, were currently between assignments and resting at the Temple.

His first choice was easiest, Master Tahl Uvain, his closest and dearest friend. Lucky for Qui-Gon, Tahl was also an unparalleled investigator and a superb Jedi. The moment he asked for her help she had readily accepted, immediately grabbing her cloak and following him out the door.

Qui-Gon's next choice was also decided quickly. In fact, it was decided the moment he discovered his long-time friend and age-mate, Master Vresh Tivi, was also stationed planet-side and thus available to serve on his team. Though he was happy to see his friend and even happier that Vresh had agreed to join him, Qui-Gon was a little disappointed when he saw that his friend had taken a padawan; a young Cathar named Lantis Mir. It wasn't that Qui-Gon had anything against the girl. It wasn't that at all. The master was just... uncomfortable placing another's padawan in danger while he desperately searched for his own. However, Vresh was as stubborn as Jinn himself and so, reluctantly, Qui-Gon agreed to include young Lantis. Thus, the team—three masters, one padawan, two goals: find Obi-Wan quickly and find him alive. In truth the first was a goal while the second was a genuine hope, but all four Jedi were determined to make that hope a reality. _That_ was their objective. _That_ was their mission.

The three masters had gathered in Qui-Gon's quarters to strategize while Lantis was completing a class exam. Vresh placed the datapad he was holding on the table and leaned his chair back to the point it was balancing on two legs, his own legs playing counter-point. He raked his long fingers through his shorn and shock white locks. Vresh was a large fellow, roughly as tall as Qui-Gon though of slimmer build. Where Qui-Gon's skin was fair, Vresh's was sun-kissed. Where Qui-Gon had long chestnut hair, Vresh kept almost a padawan look, his white hair in short spikes a top his head. To Qui-Gon's sparkling midnight blue eyes, Vresh eyes gleamed a ghostly silver. Partners in crime since their days in the crèche, the two men had made an intimidating pair and that perception had only intensified through the course of thier knighthood. In fact, it was Qui-Gon's opinion that the scar carved down and across his friend's left eye had only contributed to the man's no-nonsense demeanor and rakish good looks.

"I think small writing was created by the Sith to torture Jedi who read off datapads," Vresh announced, his cultured voice filling the room in a way that always reminded Qui-Gon of his former master, though, he had to admit, Vresh's voice had warmth and depth that Dooku's forever lacked.

"I don't think that's a plot of the Sith, my friend. Just a sign of your age," Tahl said with a smile as she glanced away from her own reading. Vresh abruptly planted his chair, his face contorted in mock affront.

"You wound me, my lady."

"I'll wound you alright," Tahl answered as she threw a datapad at the master who caught it easily. Qui-Gon, who had stepped away from the table, returned carrying three steaming mugs. He placed one before each master before taking his seat and holding his own mug reservedly between two unhappily idle hands. Suddenly, both Vresh and Tahl fell silent, the mirth quickly disappearing from their eyes with one glance at their somber friend. Tahl placed a light hand on his.

"Qui?" she asked, her voice as gentle as her touch. Qui-Gon pulled his gaze away from the contents of his cup and looked at Tahl. He nodded.

"I'm fine," he said then he turned to Vresh. "What do we have?"

"Ah," Vresh began as he picked up his previously discarded datapad. "Yes, based on what we know about Xanatos, how he operates, his knowledge, his contacts, his habits, we have compiled a list of primary locations to investigate."

"Locations he no doubt would have anticipated we would suspect," Qui-Gon interrupted. Vresh merely nodded and continued.

"Which brings us to our list of secondary locations; places we would have absolutely no reason to suspect. And finally," Vresh said handing the pad over to Qui-Gon for inspection. "A list of tertiary locations based on an algorithmic progressive search pattern and a bit of instinct."

"Reasoned guesses, mathematical equations, and instinct," Qui-Gon hissed as he laid down the pad and shook his head. "This is all we have."

"No," Tahl said as she stared at her friend, her golden-green striped eyes daring him to hold her gaze.

"We also have the Force."

* * *

Day 51

It had been one standard month since the search team had been assembled and for that standard month each day they searched new locations. Each week they traveled to new sectors of the planet. Time not spent eating, planning, or resting was spent searching and yet, for all their efforts, they had uncovered no trace of the lost apprentice.

Qui-Gon moved silently down the hallway of the small shuttle. The sectors the four had been investigating lately were on the opposite side of the planet and travel from the Temple took many hours by shuttle. As a result, the Jedi would spend several days at a time searching a large area before returning to the Temple to rest, regroup, and resupply.

The troubled master began to make his way to Tahl in the cockpit. He had ventured to the small hold in a vain attempt to meditate, but as it had been of late, his grasp on the Force was tenuous, strained, and desperate. He had therefore abandoned the effort and was making his way to sit with Tahl when he passed the opened door of the ship's tiny sleep compartment. Qui-Gon glanced inside the darkened room and silently watched the two Jedi. Lantis was fast asleep on the sleep couch, curled into a small ball, her sharp ears and thin whiskers twitching every so often in response to dream images privy to no one but she. Her master tenderly stroked her furry orange and black spotted mane as he tucked a blanket tightly over her slender shoulders.

"They always seem so much younger when they're sleeping, don't they?" Vresh asked, his eyes never leaving his feline charge.

"Were we ever this young?" he asked finally turning to his friend. Qui-Gon leaned heavily against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his broad chest with a wry smile.

"In years if not in spirit," he answered ruefully. Vresh turned his gaze back to Lantis.

"I hadn't planned on taking another one, you know. I figured two was enough; time for an old man to take a break. No more tripping over datapads or boots left in the middle of the floor. No more bedside vigils over nightmares or fevered brows. No more soothing saber burns, and thank the Force, no more discussions about changing bodies and hormones," he said with a slight chuckle. Qui-Gon nodded, a small smile tugging at his own lips at memories of giving "the talk" to his previous padawans."

"What changed your mind?"

"In a word?" Vresh answered as he placed his calloused hand lightly on his padawan's crown. "Her."

He paused for a moment trying to collect his thoughts, to link his feelings to words, but finally he just shook his head.

"I don't have the words to explain it. From the moment I brushed by her in the corridor there was... something. Then later, I saw her in her saber class," he spoke. Vresh closed his eyes as he pulled forth the pleasant memory. "She was still working with Shii-Cho, but was in the midst of a very well executed, very Ataru style double backflip when inexplicably she lost her focus. She landed badly on her right leg. I saw it happening and, I swear to you Qui, I had her in my arms before her tail touched the ground."

Vresh opened his eyes and turned to the quiet Jedi with a lopsided grin.

"By last meal, I had asked her to be my padawan, gotten the Council's approval, treated her injury in the Healing Ward, and moved her into my apartment. I have never acted so impulsively in my life since leaving the crèche and I'm eternally glad I did."

Qui-Gon carefully studied his long time friend. He could honestly not recall a time when he had seen the man happier. Not that Vresh was ever a dour sort. No, the initiate made padawan made knight had always been calmly content. Though perhaps a bit too reserved for the more forceful Qui-Gon's tastes, Vresh had always been happy and he was made happier still when he became a master raising two padawans successfully to knighthood. However, the man before Qui-Gon now was more than calmly content, more than happy, he was... joyful, ebullient within his serenity and though it pleased Qui-Gon to see his friend so deservedly Force blessed in his pairing, he could not help but feel the pangs of regret over the difficulties he caused with his own apprentice and the despair and guilt that now threatened to overwhelm him in the young boy's absence.

"I don't know how you are still upright, Qui," Vresh began again as he brought his tender gaze to his apprentice. "If it were she who was... I don't think I would be strong enough," Vresh finished softly as he placed a kiss upon the brow of the sleeping child before rising to his feet and turning to his friend. Qui-Gon shook his head as he stood up straight, a solemn expression seen plainly on his features.

"You would be strong enough," Qui-Gon answered definitively. The master's answer seemed so certain, so confident that Vresh couldn't help but question it.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because," Qui-Gon replied as he glanced sadly at the slumbering padawan. "_She_ would need you to be."

Vresh didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all only nodded his understanding. The two Jedi embraced the quiet for a moment longer before Qui-Gon turned to resume the short journey to the cockpit. Vresh followed wordlessly behind him, however the dark-haired master had barely taken two steps before his breath caught in his throat at the return of a familiar and missed warmth in the back of his mind froze him in his tracks.

_Padawan?_

_M-master?_

Qui-Gon's heart wretched at the abject sorrow, fear and pain that came crashing through the reopened bond. That uncertain, yet hope laden question, that single heavy word spoken so innocently, the voice so small and vulnerable. Vresh placed a hand on the master's shoulder.

"Qui-Gon?"

"It's Obi-Wan," was all he said before turning all of his attention inward once more.

_Master, are you there?_

_Yes, my Obi-Wan, I'm here._

_I... I'm sorry, Master._

_For what, Padawan?_

_I haven't been a very good Jedi... I... I've been afraid..._

Qui-Gon swallowed hard.

_I have been afraid too, my Padawan. You have done nothing wrong._

_Really?_

_Yes, but when you feel afraid I need you to remember that I am always with you, Obi-Wan that the Force is always with you. You are *__not*__ alone._

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sent wave after wave of love and warmth over the bond. He pushed those feelings with everything he had, determined to give the child as much comfort as possible until he had him back safe in his arms.

_Padawan, I need you to tell me where you are._

_I... I don't know, Master._

_Focus, Padawan! Tell me what you see, what you hear or smell! Can you sense anything? Tell me, no matter how small._

_There's... nothing, Master... just cold darkness. He... keeps me in the dark until..._

_Until what, Padawan?_

_Until he wants to hurt me... T-that's a different room..._

Qui-Gon could feel fear and panic begin to rise in his apprentice. He sent more waves of peace and comfort, siphoning his strength and sending it to the boy to buoy his own.

_Master, please... I... I need you to find me... I need you._

_Listen Obi-Wan, I'm coming for you! Just hang on, Padawan! I *__will*__ find you!_

_ Master, I..._

Silence.

_Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan!_

"No!" Qui-Gon yelled as he slammed his fist against the hard wall of the tight corridor.

"What's going on back there?" Tahl yelled from the cockpit. Vresh gave the shoulder under his hand a small squeeze.

"You must stay strong, my friend. _He_ needs you to be."

* * *

Day 73

"This is pointless!"

"Pointless, yes, if your frustration to control you you allow."

"I cannot access the bond! I'm being blocked at every turn! How can I not be frustrated?" Qui-Gon roared at the diminutive master as he jumped to his feet and began to pace the small room. Master Yoda closed his eyes and shielded himself as he was assaulted by the powerful waves of anguish and anger rolling off the distraught Jedi before him. Over the past few weeks, as fewer and fewer locations had cause to be investigated, Yoda had convinced Qui-Gon to meditate with him. Together they would search the Force for any hint as to the whereabouts of the lost apprentice, but with each passing day the Grand Master could sense the younger man was less and less able to reign in his focus and delve deeply into the Force because of his growing fear and guilt. Yoda was about to say something to the anxious man pacing angrily in front of him when his comm. beeped.

"Master, you are needed in the Council chambers. Qui-Gon as well," Mace said over the comm.

"On our way we are," the Grand Master answered as he rose to his feet with a "hrmmph," then he and Master Jinn made their way to the Council chambers. Once inside, Yoda took his seat while Qui-Gon stood expectantly in the center of the floor. Mace did not keep the anxious master waiting.

"A package was delivered to the Temple moments ago. The courier droid had neither a record of the sender nor knowledge of where the package came from, only directions on where to deliver it," he paused, "and to whom."

"It is for me," Qui-Gon easily deduced. Why else would his presence be necessary? Mace nodded and brought over a small golden box that rested on his open palm. Qui-Gon took the box from him, but surprisingly the Councilor did not return to his seat. Instead, he hovered by the master's side as if he knew he needed to remain close at hand. Qui-Gon chose not to ponder the Councilor's continued proximity and instead turned his attention to the box. Carefully, with a palpable dread agitating his every nerve, he opened the tiny package. For a moment, his heart stopped. His breath vanished. His mind closed. His senses deafened. His eyes closed. His knees buckled. Had Mace not been at his side, the master would have surely hit the hard floor, but as it was the Korun Councilor caught him with ease. Mace cradled Qui-Gon on his way to the floor, a stubby padawan braid still clutched tightly in the stricken master's hand.


	6. Senseless

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs.

**A/N:** Here's chapter six. I think this chapter may touch upon what most of you have been waiting for. Just keep in mind it is always darkest before the dawn and we have a lot of hours until sunrise in this story...

**Thanks:**

Super Obsessed Fangirl: Your wait has ended... Here's a new chapter.

Guest: Yeah, Xanatos is not the... most compassionate of people in this story, but if you think he is being a jerk now, well, just you wait! As for Qui-Gon bursting through a door for a rescue and to dole out some well-need comeuppance... don't hold your breath.

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 6 – Senseless**

Day – 73

"Good... good... Now, lessen your grip and open your center line then step, turn, cross, step, strike."

Master Tivi moved through the steps of the kata with a practiced ease. The move completed, he turned to his padawan.

"Now, you try."

"Master, there is no try," Lantis laughed, her lips curled up in a smile revealing two rows of tiny pointed teeth and a pair of long, sharp canines. Her master placed his left hand at his torso and bowed deeply.

"My apologies, Padawan. It is your turn to _do_," he replied giving the young Cathar girl a wink. The girl's grin grew wider then disappeared completely as her expression became one of sharp focus. She checked her grip, checked her stance and, once satisfied, took a deep breath releasing her trepidation into the Force.

Step. Turn. Cross. Step. Strike. Smile.

"Excellent!" Vresh exclaimed to his beaming apprentice. "Now, the next part is a little trickier. You turn, sweep, strike..." Vresh's voice trailed off into silence as he froze midway through his demonstration of the saber technique. The Force trembled in the air around him not in warning, but in... worry? Vresh stood up straight and closed his eyes as he searched for the source of the disturbance.

"Do you sense that, Padawan?" he asked his eyes still closed. Troubling as the feeling was, he was still a master and every moment had the potential of a lesson. Lantis closed her eyes, her chin tilted up slightly as she drew in the Force around her. Vresh could feel the girl searching, probing, reaching out with her senses as she had been trained to do. He opened his eyes and watched his apprentice carefully. Her right ear twitched slightly. She had caught something.

"I sense... trembling... like the air is... nervous," she intoned softly as she opened her eyes and gazed upon the neutral expression of her master. Vresh nodded.

"Yes, that is it exactly," he offered in agreement. Lantis wrinkled her brow, her tongue danced at the edge of her short muzzle.

"The question then is... why?" she said. Vresh watched the main door to the training salle open. Tahl stepped inside, her eyes quickly sweeping the room before locking on to him.

"And here, I think, comes our answer," he said gesturing to the approaching master. Lantis turned around to find Tahl nearly at her elbow. Vresh looked his friend over. Tahl's carefully schooled expression betrayed no disturbance, but her eyes... her eyes told the whole story of her terrible concern; easily discernible to those who knew her well.

"What has happened?" Vresh asked skipping any pleasantries.

"Come," she ordered as she turned on her heel and led the master and apprentice out of the salle at a hurried pace. "Mace just contacted me. Qui-Gon... collapsed in the Council chambers."

"Collapsed?" Vresh repeated as the trio swiftly traversed the wide Temple halls at Tahl's direction. "Is he ill?"

"No. Not ill."

Vresh's brow knitted.

"If not ill then...," he paused, his expression suddenly grim. "Obi-Wan."

It was not a question and Tahl gave no answer, only nodded confirmation of his conclusion. Vresh prepared to ask the question that naturally followed such a realization, a question he wasn't entirely certain he wanted an answer to, but before he could give the dreaded inquiry voice Tahl shot him a hard look then glanced at his padawan with narrowed eyes. Vresh understood immediately.

"Lani."

"Yes, Master," the girl answered as she glanced up at her tall master. The girl was forced to take double steps to keep up with her master's long strides.

"I need you to return to our quarters. Complete the focus meditation set I showed you earlier. Afterwards, you may join your friends for midday meal then attend to your classes. I will return by late meal."

"But, Master," the Cathar protested, "if Master Jinn is hurt or in trouble I want to help him."

Vresh stopped in the middle of the corridor and knelt before his young charge. He placed a hand on her slender shoulder.

"Your open heart serves you well and I am thankful for it, young one, but right now I require your obedience, not your compassion. Now, follow my orders and return to our quarters."

"But,"

"Lantis," Vresh snapped, his tone hard as stone and sharp as a vibroblade. Instantly, any protest the girl had planned died on her lips. Her head, ears, and tail dipped low in submission to the greater will.

"Forgive me, Master. I will go immediately," she spoke contritely in soft purring tones. With a short bob of her head she turned and hurriedly scampered away in the opposite direction. Vresh watched her until she disappeared around a corner, then he stood and continued with Tahl to their destination.

"Obi-Wan," he prompted. His padawan gone, Vresh knew he would now get an answer, but the fact that Tahl had required his padawan be dismissed before giving that answer made the master horribly uneasy.

"Xanatos sent another message."

"Through the bond?"

"No, through a courier droid," Tahl answered grimly.

"What... what was it?" Vresh asked hoping the other master had not noticed the slight wobble in his voice. The two Jedi suddenly came to a stop outside the door to the Jinn/Kenobi apartment. Tahl turned to him.

"Obi-Wan's padawan braid."

"Oh, Force!" Vresh whispered as Tahl turned back to the door, opened it, and walked inside. Vresh followed his friend into the apartment's common room where Mace immediately greeted them.

"I'm glad you're here. I must return to the Council," he said evenly. Vresh nodded.

"Of course, Master Windu. We can take it from here."

"I am not a youngling! I neither desire nor require your supervision," a gruff voice barked from deeper in the room. Qui-Gon sat in an arm chair, his elbows on his knees, his face partially obscured behind a curtain of dark brown and graying hair, his hands nimbly and numbly fingering an auburn lock. The two male masters exchanged a quiet concerned look, but Tahl burst unhesitatingly into action.

"Good thing we're not here to supervise you then," she said as she crossed over to the where Qui-Gon sat. She took a seat near him on the couch. "We're here to keep you company."

Qui-Gon growled under his breath.

"I do not want your company. Please, leave me."

Mace gave Vresh a quick glance that seemed to say "yeah, have fun with that" before he slipped out of the apartment to return to his duties as a Councilor. For several minutes the remaining Jedi were motionless, engulfed in a heavy silence; none of the masters brave enough to break it.

Qui-Gon stared down at the small braid cradled between three fingers. The braid itself was so short, just barely begun just like the boy's apprenticeship, just like the boy's life. The master had re-plaited the braid just the day before the boy disappeared. He remembered the pride and affection radiating off the boy as he knelt before his master. Qui-Gon had felt his own measure of pride and awe as he once again recognized the honor granted him to be allowed to guide this child of light down the road not only to knighthood, but to manhood as well. The braid, still in its infancy, bore only two markers: one yellow bead to signify the beginning of the master/padawan journey and a lock of Qui-Gon's own chestnut hair to further bind the two together along their path.

So much still lay ahead of the boy! Qui-Gon had eagerly looked forward to placing more markers along the lengthening lock, the physical representation of his apprentice's commitment under his tutelage and the union of the student, the teacher, and the Force.

What would bear those marks of achievement now? What markers should the master bear to denote his failure to protect his padawan?

Qui-Gon turned the braid over in his hand once more, his eyes drawn to a previously unseen detail. He stared at the top of the braid. The ends were not uniform and even as he would have expected after its shearing. No, the top of this braid was rough, the hairs jagged and... tinged with shades of pink and red.

Qui-Gon gasped at this revelation. His throat tightened. His blood thundered in his ears. Obi-Wan's braid had been torn from him, cruelly ripped from its living host. Rage and anguish battled for control over the master's fragile soul.

Rage was winning, spurred on by the bloodied braid balanced between three fingers.

* * *

Day 99

Pain. Agony. White hot and sharp blazing bursts of jagged, tearing, blinding hurt. A torturous symphony of suffering accompanies the desperate cries of one who long ago abandoned calm and peace. Or had they abandoned him? It doesn't matter. Nothing matters because this orchestra only plays one song, one tune, one discordant melody, a cacophony of misery conducted under an expert hand.

Another shattering stab of pain. Another scream is mercilessly coaxed out of a throat already raw from past torments.

_Padawan!_

No answer. Only more agony and shrieks of incoherent suffering.

_Padawan!_

A thought pushes to the surface. A plea is given and all but withered voice.

_P-Please! Please... make it stop... Anything... do anything... to stop... P-Please..._

_ Padawan! Hang on, please! I'm here! I am with you! You are not alone! Do you hear me? Obi-Wan, you are not alone!_

_ M-Make it... s-stop... P-Please... just let me die... I-I can't... anymore... J-Just let me die... P-Please..._

_ Obi-Wan! No!_

_ ...let me die... Force... let me die..._

* * *

Day 102

"There now. That's better," Tahl says as she neatly binds some of the long, chestnut tresses with a leather tie. After a great deal of pushing, pulling, and pleading, she had managed to get Qui-Gon into the refresher and into some clean robes. In near catatonia for three days, Qui-Gon had become a great weight on her heart and, she had to admit, the master was getting a little ripe too.

He had not spoken a word since he last felt his padawan through their training bond in Master Yoda's meditation room. As a result, no one knew _exactly_ what had happened only of Qui-Gon's resulting withdrawal from the world. Mace feared that perhaps the boy had died having finally, and perhaps mercifully, succumb under the hand of his torturer, but Master Yoda had been adamant that the boy still lived and no one wanted to challenge the Grand Master's proclamation; silenced as much out of fear as hope. So what had happened was still anybody's guess, but whatever it was, whatever Qui-Gon was forced to witness had proven too much for the old master.

Tahl sits her friend in his favorite chair. She kneels before him and places a hand on his cheek. He does not lean into her touch as he did before. In truth, he gives no response at all, no notice of her presence.

"Oh, Qui," she pleads softly. "Come back to me, dear heart. I miss you so much. You _must_ come back to me."

Tahl leans forward and rests her head on Qui-Gon's knee. She is just about to close her eyes when the door to the Jinn's apartment slids open. Mace's figure stands in shadowy silhouette against the backlight of the outer corridor. Tahl lifts her head and stares at the Councilor.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"We've found him. We've found Obi-Wan."


	7. Small Talk

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

**A/N:** Here's chapter seven! This chapter takes us all the way back to the start and it is Obi-centric for those of you who have been missing the adorably brooding lad. This is a little longer than previous chapters as well. Also, I um... kinda noticed that the last posting received no reviews (pulls sheepishly at the hem of her shirt). I hope that doesn't mean no one is reading. Please tell me what you think and I truly hope you enjoy this new chapter.

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 7 – Small Talk**

Day – 0

"He's going to kill me," Obi-Wan sighed defeatedly. Rationally the boy knew that he was not in any _actual_ danger of becoming a victim of homicide, but the thought of violently joining the Force seemed preferable, at least in the apprentice's eyes, to the hard look of disappointment he would inevitably be forced to endure once his master heard of his padawan's most foolish failure to date.

Obi-Wan grimaced as the bitter all too recent memory played unceasingly behind closed eyes.

"_Where do you think you're going, Oafy-Wan?"_

_Obi-Wan didn't bother to look up from packing his gym bag, he didn't have to. He knew that voice. It was the same voice that he had heard tormenting him for many of his short years, the same smug, self-satisfied, taunting voice of Jedi Initiate Bruck Chun. Obi-Wan sighed as he folded his towel and placed it in his bag._

"_Leave me alone, Bruck. I have nothing to say to you."_

"_Well maybe I have something to say to you!"_

_Obi-Wan closed his small bag and placed it on his shoulder. He turned to face his would be tormentor._

"_I'm leaving," Obi-Wan said as he moved toward the door of the changing room. Bruck immediately blocked his path._

"_You know it's only a matter of time before they change their minds," the white haired bully sneered. When Obi-Wan didn't take the bait and remained silent, the boy pressed on. "It was a mistake, you know, recalling you from Bandomeer. The Council is already beginning to recognize their error."_

_ "You don't know what you're talking about. Master Jinn chose me. It was the will of the Force that I became his padawan," Obi-Wan spat. Bruck smiled. He knew he was getting to him._

"_Why? Because he asked to be your master *after* you offered to die for him?" Bruck laughed, his dark eyes reflecting no mirth, only malice. "No master *wanted* you. The Council sent you away *early*. Master Jinn rejected you *three* times before finally taking pity on you. Face it, Oafy, it was the *will* of the Force that you never become a knight. I know it, you know it, the Council knows it, and your master knows it too," Bruck finished, a malevolent smirk plastered on his lips. _

_Obi-Wan could feel his whole body quietly shake with anger. He tried to calm himself, to focus on his breathing, but Bruck's words had hit their mark with stunning accuracy. The boy knew all of Obi-Wan's still tender wounds and he struck out at them with the precision of a surgeon, the cruelty of a Sith._

"_Step aside," Obi-Wan muttered through clenched teeth. Bruck crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, his expression twisted into a cold sneer._

"_Why, so you can run away and cry? No wonder the Force doesn't want you as a Jedi."_

_That was it. That was the moment when something inside of Obi-Wan snapped and he found himself lunging at Bruck. The two boys were a tangled mess of arms and legs as they grappled at each other, rolling back and forth across the changing room floor. The Force swirled chaotically about them riding currents of rage and jealousy. Bruck used his greater bulk to roll on top of Obi-Wan. From his superior position, the boy began to rain blow upon blow on the padawan's head. Obi-Wan blocked the punches as best he could, but inevitably some were able to painfully connect with the soft tissue of his face. Suddenly, a voice tore through the frenzied haze of the two combatants causing them to freeze in their struggles._

"_Enough!" Saber Instructor and Master Jedi Cin Drallig roared. Immediately, the boys disengaged from one another and stood before the master, their heads bowed, their hands held tightly by their sides._

"_Initiate Chun, return to your dorm at once. I will speak with your crèche master," Drallig ordered tersely. Bruck bowed before the master and ducked hastily out of the room, but not before shooting one last glare at Obi-Wan. _

"_And you, Padawan Kenobi. You will return to your quarters. I will inform Master Jinn of this... incident. I do not believe he will be pleased."_

"_Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied softly, his head still cowed in shame._

"_Go. Now."_

That had been nearly two hours ago and the apprentice knew that the time of his master's return was fast approaching. Obi-Wan drew his legs in closer to his chest and rested his head on his knees, his arms tightly hugging his huddled form. He had done it again. He had let his anger govern his actions and expressed himself in a fit of violence. It was the reason they sent him to Bandomeer early in the first place.

A tear escaped its auburn lashed prison. The solitary offender soon joined by many others as an anguished riddled whimper fled from a tremulous frame. Shame fueled his sorrow and each tear further evidenced his damnation. He was not a good padawan. A good padawan did not indulge taunts. A good padawan did not strike in anger. A good padawan did not weep uncontrollably on his bedroom floor. Only bad padawans engaged in such foolish, un-Jedi like behavior and bad padawans _never_ became knights.

His master deserved better.

Obi-Wan clumsily wiped the tears from his face, wincing slightly as his hand passed over the brilliant and swollen purplish-blue and black bruise that covered his right eye; a physical marker of his folly.

Suddenly, he heard the outer door slid open and a familiar presence entered the apartment. The wait was over. His master had returned to mete out punishment on he who had yet again proven himself unworthy of his title of padawan learner.

* * *

For all his bluster and his "maverick" behavior, Qui-Gon Jinn was a fairly predictable Jedi. So when the master had ordered meditation instead of immediately imposing the terms of his padawan's punishment, Obi-Wan was left to ponder the implications of his master's actions and ponder he did. He had little else to do as he found himself unable to sustain any real connection to the Force. His mind was too unsettled, his thoughts a jumble of skewed memories, half-truths, and self-deprecating rationalizations. So it was in this frame of mind that Obi-Wan came to the only conclusion he could have to explain his master's decision to treat his apprentice with impunity.

He was going to release him, repudiate him before the Council, and send him somewhere far, far away where the growing taint of his padawan's failure would no longer fill his senses.

Once again Obi-Wan could feel a watery pressure build behind his eyes, but this time he was determined to deny his tears release. He had just about regained some semblance of control, bleak acceptance if not actual calm, when a somewhat unfamiliar Force presence suddenly entered the apartment. Curiosity pulled Obi-Wan to his feet and out into the common room. In the middle of the room stood a tall young man with stunning blue eyes, alabaster skin, and raven hair. A circular scar rested on one cheek. He was dressed in Jedi robes, but Obi-Wan knew this man was no Jedi.

"Well hello there, Padawan Kenobi. You certainly look very sleepy..."

* * *

Obi-Wan awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. He felt stiff and groggy, a result of the aggressive sleep suggestion imposed on him by his captor.

"Xanatos," Obi-Wan remembered grimly. He shuddered. He was achingly cold, like his insides had been left out overnight and exposed on the frozen and brutal landscape of Hoth or Ilum. As Obi-Wan lay on the floor, his eyes still closed he realized he was much more than simply cold, he was... empty, profoundly and pathetically so. He felt as if he had awakened in body, but without his soul.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes slowly. He was in a cell and he was alone, but what Obi-Wan felt was the he was _utterly_ alone. Instinctively, he reached out to the comforting presence of the Force, but was met by a disturbing void. Panic flared inside his mind, easily displacing the fragile calm that resided before. He swallowed thickly as his chest tightened and blood began to pound in his head like a herd of crazed banthas. Desperately, the boy called out over the bond.

_Master?_

Once again, the young Jedi encountered silence; a vast emptiness both from within and without. Against his express consent, his bottom lip quivered and tiny shivers ran loose down his limbs. He sat up and pulled his legs in close to his body. As he did so he felt a strange pressure around his neck. With trembling fingers he reached up. The boy gasped slightly as his fingertips brushed metal. "Was this a... Force collar?" Obi-Wan wondered. He had heard mention of such devices before in whispers and hushed voices around the Temple. A new and unpleasant weight settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

Obi-Wan was cold. So very cold and so very, very alone.

* * *

Day 1

"My apologies, little padawan, for not being here to greet you properly upon your waking, but I had some... duties to attend."

With considerable effort, Obi-Wan lifted his head off his knees and turned an empty gaze to the man on the other side of the ray shield. Xanatos offered a mocking bow to the Jedi before pulling his ebon cloak around him as he took a seat directly in front of Obi-Wan's cell door.

"I trust you slept well?" he asked, his effete voice dripping with false sincerity. Obi-Wan felt like his brain was encased in mud. His thoughts were sluggish, heavy; his very mental processes snagged, caught, and pulled down helplessly into the putrid mire. His raven haired captor sat patiently, content to observe the young man's struggle to commend his thoughts into words. After several quiet minutes, Obi-Wan found enough focus to address his kidnapper.

"What... do you want... from me?"

"Right now, only to talk."

Obi-Wan let his fingers brush across the smooth metal around his neck.

"Can't... think," he muttered. Xanatos nodded in understanding.

"Yes, it is unfortunate, but necessary I assure you," he answered with a frown. "The... effects will lessen over time... or at least that's what I've been told," he finished with a careless shrug. Obi-Wan said nothing only tightened his grip around his legs as violent shudder slammed through his weakened frame.

"Let's talk."

"Nothing... to say to you..."

"Come now, I'm certain Qui-Gon has taught you better manners than that," Xanatos said as he wagged a long, thin finger disapprovingly at his prisoner. He crossed his legs and settled his hands upon his lap.

"We will start with something simple," he smiled flashing his brilliant, all too white teeth. "Your black eye, how did you get it?"

For a moment, the boy's brow wrinkled as he gave his jailor a quizzical look, but then his body was again assailed by more powerful tremors causing his expression to revert to one full of despair born of deep longing.

"It is not a difficult question, little padawan."

Obi-Wan lowered his head back onto his knees.

"Nothing to say," he mumbled. Xanatos released an exaggerated sigh and patted his thigh.

"You need time to rest I see. We can continue our talk later," he said as he stood up and briskly walked out of the room leaving a chilled and weary padawan to his confusion.

* * *

Day 2

By the next day, Obi-Wan was still freezing cold, but now the frost seemed to be strictly on the inside. His head was clearer, but he still felt the crushing presence of his... nothingness. The lack within his mind was suffocating and yet he continued to breath. It was a conundrum too complex for his addled mind to tackle so instead he sat huddled tightly in a corner of his cell content to think of nothing at all.

* * *

Day 3

Obi-Wan quietly gripped his stomach as it voiced yet another audible protest at its present condition. His head was clear now, the tremors that had wracked his body all but a memory, only the chill and interminable void remained leaving his mind and body free to address other concerns and none seemed more pressing at that moment than his gnawing hunger.

The boy's stomach growled again and as if on some well rehearsed cue, the far door slid open and Xanatos stepped through, a covered metal tray in his hands.

"I trust you're feeling better, little padawan," the kidnapper smirked. Obi-Wan climbed to slightly wobbly legs, fists clenched tightly by his sides.

"I question your sincerity regarding my well-being," the boy said flatly. Xanatos placed the large tray on a nearby table and stepped closer to the cell door.

"I assure you I have no desire to harm you at this time."

"My _abduction_ is a harm. My _imprisonment_ is a harm, and _this_," he said as he stabbed a finger at the collar, "is _most definitely_ a harm!"

"All fair points," Xanatos replied, his hands raised in mock surrender. "I shall rephrase. I have no desire to see you suffer any further harm at this stage in our relationship."

"And what stage is that?"

"The talking stage," Xanatos smiled. "Are you hungry?" he asked as he moved to the table on his right. His hand hovered over the covered tray for a moment then, with a refined and well cultured grace he unveiled the treasures previously hidden by the silvered dome. As soon as the cover was removed hearty and heavily spiced smells wafted freely in the small room, the mouth watering aromas effortlessly penetrating the cell's powerful ray shields.

"You must be hungry," Xanatos said evenly. Obi-Wan wasn't hungry. He was famished, but he said nothing, unwilling to confirm his captor's most reasonable suspicions, but in a moment of unadulterated mutiny Obi-Wan's stomach roared noisily, its deep rumbling like an angry gundark. Xanatos's smile grew larger.

"Alright, little padawan, I propose this. I will give you this tray of food if you give me something in return."

Obi-Wan lifted his previously transfixed gaze from the near-yet-still-so-far bowl of stew and fresh spice bread to look his captor in the eye.

"What do I have to do?"

"Talk to me. I want an answer to my question. How did you get the black eye?"

Obi-Wan gave his captor a wary look as he struggled to uncover the man's motives.

"So," the apprentice began slowly as he moved closer to the front of the cell. "All I have to do is tell you how I got this bruise,"

"And you can eat your fill," Xanatos finished. Obi-Wan pondered the odd bargain a few seconds more, but another voracious grumbling from his abdomen sufficiently ended the internal debate. A short nod sealed the deal. Xanatos lifted the tray and walked before the cell door. The ex-Jedi paused over the control panel having noted the boy's eyes dart quickly over the lightsaber on his hip.

"You would do well to remember that I was nearly a knight when the Order and I chose to part ways. You are weak from hunger and Force deprivation. An attempt to escape would be... foolhardy, little padawan," Xanatos warned. The emphasis he placed on the penultimate word did not escape the boy's attention. Satisfied the child would be compliant, Xanatos lowered the shield and handed the tray to Obi-Wan who took it warily before backing up a few steps, sitting down, and launching eagerly into its contents. Xanatos stepped back and reactivated the shield. He took a seat and watched as the teenage prisoner attacked the culinary offering with wild and reckless abandon. He crossed his legs and placed his interlaced fingers casually upon his lap, a smug smile tugging at his thin lips.

"Now, my payment," he began, his tone genteel. "Who were you fighting?"

"How do you know I was fighting?" Obi-Wan mumbled between mouthfuls of bread and stew. "Maybe I just fell or walked into a wall or something."

"No apprentice of Qui-Gon's would be so clumsy."

Obi-Wan glanced up briefly and found Xanatos waiting patiently for his answer. He returned his attention back to his tray of food, a little of his initial zeal gone.

"It was with an initiate."

"A rival."

"A bully."

"And what prompted the attack?" Xanatos asked. Obi-Wan paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"He was spreading lies about the Council and... about Master Jinn," he answered finally. Xanatos tilted his head in thought.

"The lies angered you?"

"Yes."

"So, you fought the boy in anger?"

"Yes."

"That wasn't very Jedi of you."

"No, it wasn't," Obi-Wan replied as he held the dark haired man's gaze, his eyes showing a strength and defiance that his weakened body could not.

"I was wrong and I confessed as much to my master."

Xanatos nodded casually, unaffected by the glare of the young apprentice.

"During my time as Qui-Gon's apprentice, I saw my share of... mistakes and each came with a rather swift punishment—essays, push-ups, laps around the Temple, even scrubbing the stones in the meditation gardens with a microbrush. Tell me, what odious penance was placed on you?"

Obi-Wan shifted uneasily, a hand bearing a piece of bread hung frozen in the air for a beat before returning from whence it came.

"He... he told me to meditate on my actions."

"Meditate?" Xanatos repeated, a lone eyebrow raised in apparent incredulity. "I find that... surprising."

Obi-Wan had no response and so he offered none. After a few moments, Xanatos decided to forge ahead.

"Well, I'm sure he had his reasons," he said as he stood and moved to the door. He paused before exiting, looking back over his shoulder at Obi-Wan.

"Your eye, Qui-Gon saw it?" he asked, his tone almost... kind. Obi-Wan hesitated before answering, unsure of where the conversation was going.

"Um... yes, he did."

Xanatos turned fully to face the boy.

"And he did not heal it for you?"

No response followed. None was needed, the answer lay brazenly displayed discolored and swollen on the boy's face. Xanatos frowned, but offered nothing further as he left the boy to his meal. Obi-Wan was left alone, his captor's last question hanging heavily in the air. He quietly pushed the half-eaten tray of food away, his appetite suddenly gone.

* * *

Day 7

Each "day," at least that's how Obi-Wan chose to count the cycle of repetitions that had become his life in captivity as he had no view outside or external time keeper, was the same: wake, attempt meditation, fail, brood over said meditation failure, "wash" in basin provided, brood some more, sleep, wake, do calisthenics, sit, eat, brood, brood, brood, sleep, repeat.

The meals were the worst as the cost was always the same: discussions with his master's former and fallen padawan. None of the "talks" had any real substance, the topics innocuous and yet after each the young apprentice felt... hollow. Most likely an effect of the collar and not the conversation. Most likely.

* * *

Day 9

"You know what I always dreaded? Dinners with Master Dooku. Why Qui-Gon seemed so determined to parade his padawans in front of his master like prize pets I will never understand. How many of those dinners has he made you suffer through so far, little padawan?"

"Um... I haven't had an occassion... to meet Master Dooku... yet."

"Oh,... I see. Well, lucky you I guess."

* * *

Day 11

"How old are you, little padawan?"

"13 standard."

"Ah, so Qui-Gon has given you your thirteenth life day gift then."

"Yes, a stone from,"

"The River of Light."

"How...?"

"He gives it to all his padawans. Feemor, then me, and now you. Let me guess, you thought you were the only one? I did too... once."

* * *

Day 15

For three weeks the schedule had been the same. "Well not counting those first few days where I was unconscious," Obi-Wan thought to himself wryly. Each day, since then had been the same and, though his was loathe to admit it, the routine was something he had come to rely on; a constancy in a world of uncertainty and chaos, in a life led without the Force. So it was rather unsettling when Xanatos arrived at his cell without his customary tray of food.

"What's going on?" Obi-Wan said as he rose to his feet and approached the cell door. Xanatos met him on the other side leaving the two, Jedi and former Jedi, separated by only a few feet and a thin shield.

"This," Xanatos said holding up a small remote-like device, "controls the different aspects of the collar you're wearing. This button here deactivates the Force suppression feature and this one here..." he said as his finger lingered just above another button. "Well, this one stimulates nerve clusters throughout your body. The result is quite... painful."

"I thought you said you had no desire to harm me," Obi-Wan intoned determined not to allow his jailor the pleasure of seeing him afraid. Xanatos nodded.

"At that stage, no. There was no need to harm you, however, we have progressed to the next stage of this relationship, little padawan and though much of it will be unpleasant for you, I assure you it is all necessary."

"Suffering is never necessary," Obi-Wan hissed.

"Oh, but it is," Xanatos smiled. "Through suffering we will create something beautiful, something unique. It will be a work of art worthy of presenting to our shared master and you, my little padawan, will be the canvas..."

* * *

After Xanatos' frightening speech about beauty and art he had left Obi-Wan in his cell unharmed. Why, the boy did not know. Perhaps he wanted to unbalance him with fear. If that was the plan he would likely succeed because despite Obi-Wan's best efforts to stifle the panic and wild anxiety rumbling in his chest, without the Force his best efforts were woefully inadequate. Suddenly, Obi-Wan's mind and body were flooded with warmth and light and... fullness. It was like being trapped under water blocked from the surface by a sheet of ice only to finally break through and take a wondrous deep gasping breath of pure air. The Force was back and so was his access to the bond.

_Master?_

_Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Where are you?_

_I'm... alright, Master, but I don't know where I am._

Suddenly, Obi-Wan felt warm waves of love, comfort, and reassurance sweep toward him over their bond. His heart settled down and his breath steadied.

_It's going to be alright, Padawan. I *will* find you. I promise._

Just as his master gave him words of reassurance, Xanatos stepped back into the room. He studied Obi-Wan in silence for several moments considering something in his head before speaking.

"You've made contact with Qui-Gon by now I assume," he stated. Obi-Wan simply nodded figuring that prevarication would get him no where.

_Obi-Wan?_

_He's here._

_Xanatos?_

"Tell your master I have a message for him," Xanatos said with a wicked smile. "Tell him that it's no fun if he's peeking. Tell him that he will hear from me... soon."

_What? I don't understand, Padawan. What does he mean?_

Xanatos stepped closer to the cell door holding the tiny remote in his hand.

"Sorry, little padawan, but there is one other message I need you to send," he said. He pushed a button on the device and every nerve in Obi-Wan's body seemed to light up at once. Pain as he has never felt before raced through his limbs with nauseating intensity, ravaging his flesh unimpeded as he was deprived of the calming presence of the Force. Just when he didn't believe he could stand anymore, Obi-Wan's world went thankfully, mercifully dark.


	8. The Silent Dark

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan and Padawan Eudo Orn.

**A/N:** Here's chapter eight and it too is a wee bit longer than most of the previous chapters. I have to tell you, this one and the one that follows were particularly hard chapters to write, but I am satisfied with the results and I hope that all of you who are following along are pleased as well. Either way I'd love to hear what you think!

**Thanks:**

Please Insert Name Here0: You wait is over. Here is a new chapter!

Capurnia: Sorry to say, but this chapter is more of a brooding Qui-Gon, but I promise the next will feature some prime Obi-Wan brooding!

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 8 – The Silent Dark**

Day – 102

A compact tornado of movement tears silently through the solemn halls of the Jedi Temple. The flurry of movement so fast it can easily be dismissed as a trick of light or shadow, the presence so quiet the mover is more wraith than man. None stand in purposeful opposition to his progress, the unfortunate few caught in his tornadic path are saved from collision and injury only by the grace of refined Jedi reflexes.

From the moment Mace had stood at his threshold and uttered those momentous and long awaited words, Qui-Gon Jinn was in motion, tearing out of the apartment without a second or even a first thought, only propelled by raw need and piercing desire to find his padawan. Mace held his tongue rather than reminding the master of the prohibition and general inappropriateness of running down the corridors like a crazed youngling, but given the circumstances he allowed the moment to pass without rebuke. That, at least, was the main reason. A second, far less compassionate reason might have been that the Korun Councilor was hard pressed just keeping up with the man.

The three masters reach the Healer's Ward in record time, a record the Councilor hopes will remain private and not evolve into a challenge posed to roaming and restless bands of junior padawans and initiates.

Qui-Gon doesn't bother stopping at the reception desk. He bursts through the double doors, his eyes settling on the flurry of activity down the hall leading to a room on the left. Without further hesitation he barrels down the small, white corridor and charges into the room. A bevy of healers and their apprentices bustle about the small space, some spouting commands, others serenely seeing to their execution, all wearing slightly grim expressions, but there... deep in the center of the throng and press of physicians lay both the wellspring of his heart and the fount of his despair.

The old man pushes his way forward uncaringly displacing healers as he makes his way to the figure on the medical couch. The small body appears to be stripped in every way possible. The healers have removed the boy's clothing, save for his small clothes, in preparation for what looks to the master's eyes to be a lengthy stint in a bacta tank for the boy is riddled with hideous injury. Welts, cuts, slashes, and burns streak across the pale body in shades of vibrant crimson, purple, and pink, the skin around it sallow, taut, and sunken. The body is very small, underweight, emaciated, skeletal. Bones protrude where muscle has atrophied. Dark craters rest under closed eyes standing as mute sentinels over hollowed cheeks devoid of their natural pallor.

Qui-Gon carefully lifts a small, bony hand holding it lightly in his large, calloused one. A hand touches the master's shoulder.

"Why can I not feel him?" the master asks quietly as if he is afraid his voice alone is enough to shatter the brittle frame below.

"He still has a lot of Force suppressant drugs in his system," the healer pauses. "Which means we cannot effect any significant Force healing. We must place him in bacta immediately."

Qui-Gon nods, but is unable to release the hand or his gaze. It is not until Tahl steps forward that the healers are able to gently disengage the pair and whisk their patient away.

For many moments, Qui-Gon is silent, standing stock still, rooted to his present space in the universe. A plethora of unbridled, unbalanced, and unnamed emotions course through the master's mind, his soul. The unexpected weight of it temporarily overwhelms him. His knees buckle, but quick and steady hands catch him, their support unwavering as they lead him to a seat. Tahl sits beside him. Mace kneels before him. It takes several breaths, but eventually the placid presence of the other masters allows Qui-Gon to re-center himself; a long exhalation into the Force relieving some of the twisted tension knotted painfully in his chest.

"Where did you find him?" he asks.

"We didn't. He found us," the Councilor answers. "Just like the old troll said," Mace adds to himself. Both Qui-Gon and Tahl's brows wrinkle in confusion and disbelief. Mace stands up and gives a quick tilt of his head to the door.

"Come. There is someone you should speak to," he says, but Qui-Gon shakes his head in protest.

"No, I will not leave him."

"Qui,"

"No!"

"Qui-Gon Jinn," Tahl barks in the voice she usually reserves for unruly younglings, disobedient padawans, and one particularly stubborn Master Jedi. "The boy will be unconscious and in bacta for hours. Now, you are going to follow Mace, listen to whoever he tells you to, then we are getting some food and you are going to sleep so you will be ready for Obi-Wan when he _will_ need you or so help me you Sith-forsaken son of Hutt I will tan your hide with your own lightsaber!" she finishes, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set in steely determination. As usual, Tahl's tone has the desired effect. Qui-Gon sighs, but nods his reluctant assent. As the two masters follow Mace out of the ward and through the halls, he wonders if he should recommend Master Uvain for a Council seat just to keep the old rebel in line. A smile finds its way to his face and is then quickly disposed of lest his reputation be ruined.

The three make their way through the winding Temple halls at a much calmer pace than previously displayed causing them to reach the front steps of the Temple in a less dizzying speed. As soon as the trio of masters cross the threshold another Jedi moves to greet them, his padawan learner in tow a traditional step behind.

"Masters Windu, Uvain, Jinn," the Dressallian Jedi nodded to each master in turn.

"Knight Cib-Tan and his padawan Eudo Orn," Mace introduced. Both Tahl and Qui-Gon politely bow their heads.

"Cib-Tan," Qui-Gon begins, his mind still half in thought. "You were apprenticed to Master Shenuss?"

"I was."

"Your master and mine are good friends," the tall Jedi nods. Mace steps in closer to the cluster of Jedi.

"It was Cib-Tan who first saw Obi-Wan," he says focusing the conversation like a Force crystal. Qui-Gon looks to Mace then to the Knight, his expression suddenly stern.

"Tell me," he says.

"Of course, Master," the Dressallian nods. "Yes, I was here on the steps waiting for my padawan to finish re-examining the folly of a recent decision... as a part of a moving meditation," he finishes with a smirk. Qui-Gon eyes the young Zabrack with a raised eyebrow.

"Dare I ask how many laps, padawan?"

The teenager grimaces slightly.

"Five," he answers sheepishly. Tahl whistles.

"That... is impressive, young one. Let's hope its cause it not repeated else Master Windu may be forced to name the perimeter concourse after you," she says with a frown, but a sly wink to the teen quickly sends the boy into an embarrassed blush. His master clears his throat bringing all attention back to him and the present story.

"Eudo had just completed his last lap and we were going to return to our quarters when I felt a disturbance in the Force."

"What kind of disturbance?" Qui-Gon interrupts. Cib-Tan shakes his head.

"It is difficult to explain. It wasn't a warning so much as... an announcement," the Knight continues though still clearly vexed. "At that moment an air taxi pulled up and out dropped a bundle of some sort. The taxi then sped away. I, of course, moved to investigate. As I walked closer I realized that the bundle was in fact a boy, a padawan. After I checked his vitals, I picked him up, sent Eudo off to inform the Council, and I hurried him to the healers."

"Did you see anyone else? Sense them? Did you note the air taxi number or its registration?" Qui-Gon asks, the questions spilling from him like an over-filled cup.

"I'm sorry, Master Jinn. I didn't sense anyone, not even your padawan. The air taxi had no registration or number only the generic marking of the trade. I did not think it unusual at the time."

"Forgive me," Jinn starts with a rueful smile. "I am grateful you were here. Both of you," he says with a glance at the padawan who respectfully nods.

"The Council will still require a full report from both you and your padawan," Mace states. The Knight bows.

"We will of course be available at the Council's request."

Without another word, the five Jedi enter the Temple and immediately upon doing so divide into three groups, each with their own duties to attend, however, it is Master Uvain who has the most arduous task.

"Oh no, you don't. You still have a feeding and a nap to get before I allow you to return to the Healer's Ward," Tahl warns as she physically steers the large man in the direction of the Temple's senior refectory.

"You needn't treat me like a crechling," Qui-Gon grumbles.

"And once you stop behaving as one I will most happily comply," she teases, then her face becomes more serious. "You know I'm right, Qui. You will be of no help to him if you have no strength to lend him."

"Yes, you are right," he replies, his tone softened in surrender and gratitude. "However, let us be clear," he growls. "I require rest, _not_ a nap."

* * *

Day 103

As expected, Master Uvain ultimately got her way and the old master was both fed, though he ate sparingly, and put to bed, though his sleep was restless and disturbed. When the master finally abandoned any further attempts at slumber it was well into the early hours of morning.

Qui-Gon stands and begins a stumbling journey to the refresher. He leans over and splashes cold water across his haggard features. He tames a few unruly locks before stepping out of the 'fresher, grabbing his cloak and heading out the door. He does not run through the wide corridors this time, but his pace is hurried and his stride over long, devouring the marbled distance between the master and his destination. In less than three minutes he is passing through the double doors of the Healing Ward and upon his entrance he is quickly waylaid by Master Healer Ar Songe who seems to have been expecting him.

"Master Jinn, a word please," the aged Mirialan says as he gestures to his office at the end of the long hallway. The Jedi Master nods and follows the healer to the specified location where he is silently directed to a seat while his host seats himself behind a pristine and ordered desk.

Healer Ar Songe had been a staple in the Healing Halls since Qui-Gon himself was a crechling. Of average height and slight frame, Songe did not appear to be an intimidating figure... at a distance, that is. Up close one could see the unmistakable passion burning in his uniquely orange eyes. The healer's pale green skin contrasted starkly with the numerous dark tattoos beautifully etched across his forehead, cheeks, and chin; painfully artistic cultural markers of past trials, achievements, and acquired masteries. His face was thin and long, his high cheek bones accentuated his upswept raven hair secured in a tidy and severe topknot.

From behind his desk, the healer leans forward, steepling his fingers. Though the Mirialan is shielding normally, Qui-Gon can feel the subtle ripples of concern rolling quietly off the older man causing his own anxieties to make a more determined press to the surface. Qui-Gon exhales slowly.

"Something is wrong with Obi-Wan," he concludes.

"He has been removed from the bacta. There were no complications and he is resting well. Thankfully, aside from severe malnutrition and dehydration, the worst of his physical injuries were a broken right wrist, two hairline rib fractures on his left side, and a dislocation of his right shoulder," the healer pauses. Qui-Gon feels the tension in the Force tighten considerably around him.

"Master Jinn, electropulsars were used on him... extensively from the looks of it. Though I feel there is little chance of permanent nerve damage, he will likely have to endure several months of muscle spasms and tremors in his extremities. Your padawan will also need to see a Soul Healer at some point for the psychic trauma the experience has inflicted," he finishes with a weary sigh.

Qui-Gon leans forward, dragging his hands across his face before resting his elbows on his knees. He holds his head down, his chestnut and silvered locks falling limply against either side of his face. He steels himself for what is yet to come and after a brief moment, the span of a few recently calmed heartbeats, he looks up at his fellow master.

"There is more," he intones. It is not a question, but Master Songe still provides an answer.

"Yes," he nods. Qui-Gon sits up straight in his chair. He will be strong. He has to be. There is no try.

"Tell me."

"When he first arrived here, you saw his wounds, no?" Songe asks. When he receives Qui-Gon's silent nod he continues. "It was expected that the prolonged bacta treatment would accelerate the healing on all the wounds resulting in minimal scaring. However, what the treatment revealed was most disturbing... Many of the fresher wounds were superficial, there purpose to obscure the more serious wounds underneath. These wounds were significantly older, too old for optimal healing," the Master Healer pauses to allow his words to sink in. When he notices the master's brow beetle together, the healer stands and walks around the desk to the door.

"Come."

Qui-Gon follows the master healer out the door and into the main hall of the ward. After walking only a few meters, the healer stops outside a closed door and turns to the taller master.

"I wanted to mention the scars to you to prepare you, Master Jinn. His captor went to... considerable effort to achieve this result."

The healer's choice of words sit uneasily in the air between the two masters, but to their credit neither Jedi shrinks from the unpleasant reality of the situation. Satisfied his warning is well-heeded, Songe opens the door, immediately stepping aside to admit the other master. Qui-Gon steps into the small and sterile space, his midnight blue eyes resting on a pale face barely rising above the dull gray of a thermal blanket. He steps forward cautiously, almost tip-toeing towards the unnaturally still form of his apprentice; his only assurance that boy is alive is the subtle rise and fall of his small chest and the quiet in and exhalations of his shallow breaths.

"See for yourself," the healer softly orders from the doorway. With growing trepidation, Qui-Gon complies. He reaches for the edges of the multiple layers of blankets and sheets obscuring what the old man fears will be the subject of many nightmares to come for both master and padawan. Shaking and calloused hands gently pull back the covers and the master who had seen bodies ravaged by plague, the master who had seen bodies rendered bloodied and formless by encounters on the battlefield, the master who had seen bodies sundered under another's cruel ministrations couched in the mollifying terms of interrogation and discipline, the master who had seen bodies laid low and mutilated, flesh and bone evidence of prurient minds, the master who had seen all of these evils, enough defilement for a lifetime, this master is still unable to stop a horrific gasp from escaping his bearded lips. Nearly every square inch of the boy's body bore some kind of scar etched painfully into his pale skin, unholy carvings wheedled with a child's suffering. 'X's made by the biting lash of an electro-whip marked his arms, legs, and the back of hands. A look to the boy's back revealed a large XDC carved with a vibroblade of some sort, but it is the child's chest which truly stops the master's heart cold. Upon the pale and slender frame sits a scar rendered in the form of a broken circle.

"This was done by a lightsaber," Qui-Gon mutters, his usual full baritone a distant echo of itself.

"Scars can be removed through several grafting methods, but each involves a very long, very painful process. Considering the extent of his scaring... I would not in good conscience recommend such a procedure," Songe offers from his position in the threshold. "It will still be several hours until he wakes. If you need anything you need only ask. I will check on him again later," Songe finishes. He expects no reply so he turns to leave, but a gruff voice from the room stops him.

"Thank you, Master Songe."

* * *

Qui-Gon is a patient man. He is patient as he carefully cradles the smaller hand in his. He is patient as he tenderly moves a wayward auburn lock from a ghostly pale forehead. He is patient as he longingly awaits for darkened lids to lift and reveal to him the luminous blue-gray eyes that he misses so much he physically aches in his need.

"Please, Padawan. Open your eyes. Open your eyes for me," the master begs, but his pleas go unanswered. He continues his solemn bedside vigil in silence and patience.

* * *

"I hope you haven't been here all night."

"No, not _all_ night."

"Good," the honeyed voice answers from the doorway. Tahl walks in and crosses to the opposite side of Obi-Wan's bed. She places a gentle hand across his cheek and is dismayed by its coolness. She turns her golden-green eyes to Qui-Gon.

"Have you spoken to the healers yet? How is he?" she asks softly, her whispered tone both seeking answers and fearing them as well. Qui-Gon sighs.

"Xanatos... he didn't just... torture him, he... butchered him, Tahl," he says as he lifts his weary gaze to hers. "He marked him with a saber."

Tahl stares at him uncomprehendingly as he stands up and gently pulls down the boy's covers. She too gasps, a hand covering her mouth, her eyes searching her friend for answers he himself has yet to find.

"Qui," she starts, but she is interrupted by the sudden swish of a cloak and a warm familiar voice.

"I just heard," Vresh says as he slows his previously un-Jedi-like pace to enter the room. The newcomer searches his friends' faces, but only Tahl will meet his gaze and in the depths of her eyes he sees a sadness he has never before witnessed there, even at the death of her own master.

Vresh swallows thickly as he slowly inches closer to the unmoving figure on the bed.

"Is he...?"

"He is alive," Qui-Gon's baritone rumbles softly. The knot tightening in Vresh's chest suddenly loosens slightly with the master's simple proclamation. Qui-Gon gently squeezes his padawan's hand before releasing it. He stands and steps away to the room's only window, his back to the bed and the boy in it. He knows what must happen next, but right now it is a sight he does not want again to witness.

"Show him," he intones. Vresh looks to Tahl in confusion, but her expression is _beyond_ neutral, the Jedi emotionless mask presented in the extreme. She inclines her head inviting him to step closer. He pulls beside the bed, his eyes flitting despondently over the child's wan features.

"He's so small," he whispers. Tahl says nothing as she lightly grasps the boy's covers. She gently pulls them away from the sorely abused body.

"E chu ta!" he mutters breathlessly. Tahl carefully replaces the boy's blankets. Vresh falls back several steps before he stops and composes himself.

"Is he in custody?" he asks, the anger welling in his chest faintly coloring his inquiry.

"No," Qui-Gon answers, his back still turned from the pitiful scene. Vresh can feel the Force twisting and churning around the three master Jedi, the usually serene currents now muddied eddies of sorrow, revulsion, and anger... lots of anger, much of it his own. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to steady himself.

"Where was he found?"

"Someone left him on the steps of the Temple," Tahl answers quietly.

"Who?"

"We don't know," she replies with a sigh. The master then slips from her place beside Obi-Wan's bed and moves to the small open space between where Qui-Gon stands and where his apprentice lays. Without a word she kneels on the floor, her hands resting on her thighs, her eyes closed. Qui-Gon turns around, his dark blue eyes heavy with unshed tears. He takes a step away from the window and kneels near his friend. Vresh follows suit completing the small triangle of Jedi. No words are needed so none are spoken. The three friends together sink deeply into the Force allowing its timeless plenary to smooth the rough edges of their battered hearts.

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Three minds release themselves into the ether._

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

_Inhale._

_Anger. Released._

_Exhale._

_Inhale._

_Despair. Released._

_Exhale._

_Three minds floating freely, weightless in effusive light._

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

_Inhale._

_Serenity._

_Exhale._

_Tranquility._

_Three minds centered, at peace._

_One mind lost in chaos._

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

* * *

Seconds before the medical monitors bleated out their warning in shrieking digital blasts of sound, Qui-Gon Jinn is snapped out of his meditations by the return of a familiar presence tickling the edges of his perception.

_ Obi-Wan!_

Qui-Gon jumps to his feet. The machines monitoring the young patient flare to life, their high pitch warnings bringing the remaining Jedi out of their own meditations. Qui-Gon races to his padawan's side. He holds the small, limp hand in his large calloused one, his other rests on the child's forehead. He closes his eyes focusing only on the bond they share.

_ Padawan? Padawan! Can you hear me?_

Tahl and Vresh stand a respectable distance behind the concerned master as Healer Songe enters the room and begins to assess the child's condition.

_ Padawan! Obi-Wan!_

"He's coming around," Songe says as he silences the wailing machines. Tahl and Vresh step in a bit closer as the small body begins to stir. Eyelids flutter then finally open revealing glassy unfocused blue-gray orbs.

"Obi-Wan, can you hear me?" the master healer calls. "How are you feeling, young one?"

The small mouth does not open. The open eyes stare, unseeing at the ceiling above. Qui-Gon spares Songe a questioning glance. The Master Healer places one hand on the boy's forehead the other on the boy's chest. He closes his eyes examining with the Force, but his probe is deflected by what seems to be thick shields around the boy's mind; blocking any sense of emotional presence. When the healer again opens his eyes his head is shaking.

"He's in shock from the trauma. He has withdrawn into himself."

"How... How do we bring him back?" Qui-Gon asks not taking his eyes off his padawan.

"Given time he may come back on his own, but I think it would be best if you lead him back, Master Jinn. Use your bond to bring him here. Let him know that he is safe and he should return," Songe answers with a soft expression. "I will be back to check on him," he says. He nods to Masters Uvain and Tivi, then leaves the room closing the door behind him. Vresh and Tahl cross to the opposite side of the boy's bed. Qui-Gon remains still except for the occasional gentle stroke of a thumb across the child's forehead. If the padawan is aware of the three masters who worry beside him, he makes no show of it. Obi-Wan stares blankly at the ceiling above in errie quiet. Qui-Gon closes his eyes.

_ Padawan! Obi-Wan, hear me!_

The master allows himself to plunge deeper into the bond, crossing it. From the boy he feels nothing, no pain, no emotion, nothing at all. Qui-Gon assumes that Obi-Wan is hiding behind thick mental shields so he very carefully begins to probe the child's mind, waiting to encounter the expected resistance of a mental barrier, but the master is able to penetrate into the boy's mind easily. Obi-Wan is using no shields at all! His mind is completely open and vulnerable and yet... his master still senses nothing. His apprentice's mind is a void, a darkness limitlessly stretching over the boy's psyche.

Qui-Gon pulls back with a fearful gasp. He opens his eyes to find his friends staring worriedly at him. Tahl is the first to speak.

"What is it? What did you sense?"

"Nothing," he answers, still shaking his head not believing what he knows to be true.

"What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"I mean _nothing_, Tahl."

"He's shielded to strongly?" Vresh asks.

"No shields. Not one," Qui-Gon answers. "See for yourself."

At first, both masters are extremely hesitant to enter Obi-Wan's mind without his consent, but after a moment they accept that present circumstances will excuse the violation. Both close their eyes and extend themselves to the boy. It only takes a few seconds before their eyes flash open in horrific disbelief.

"I-I don't understand," Tahl whispers. "How is this even possible?"

"This isn't just a simple retreat from pain... He's... hollow," Vresh stammers, then he looks to Qui-Gon. "Is this something that Xanatos could have done to him? Could he somehow have... emptied him?"

"Empty the boy is not. Still there Obi-Wan is," answers a gravelly voice from the doorway. All three masters turn and bow their heads to the ancient Jedi joining them.

"Master Yoda, I cannot sense anything from him. It's like there is a void inside him," Qui-Gon says, his dark eyes imploring the Grand Master to give him some reason, some explanation to help staunch the terror welling inside his heart. Yoda leans heavily on his gimer stick, his eyes closed.

"Veiled himself he has, obscured by a blanket of darkness," the old master intones as he opens his eyes. "Lost he is. Find his way back he may not."

Qui-Gon snatches his gaze away from the diminutive Jedi and returns it to the unseeing blue-gray eyes of his padawan.

"I cannot accept that."

"Help him you cannot. His choice it must be. Patience it will require, Qui-Gon. Great patience."

"I will do whatever it takes for as long as it takes. I'm not going anywhere and neither is he."

* * *

Day 107

For four days Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn has kept his patient bedside vigil. He has not slept, not truly, in that time. The healers, realizing that the master would not be leaving, had provided him with a small cot on which to rest. At times sleep had been attempted, but these attempts were met with failure. The best Qui-Gon can manage is a light meditative trance to stave off the worst of his exhaustion. And he is exhausted. Patience is exhausting. Waiting is exhausting, but the silence... that is by far the worst of it.

Qui-Gon shifts in the uncomfortable flimsiplast seat.

The silence is like a physical presence in the room for always there is the master, the apprentice, and the heavy silence. Vresh and Tahl took shifts visiting the pair often and staying with them for long hours until duty pulled them away. They had tried to fight the silence, tried to banish its smothering weight from the room, but despite their struggles they could only manage to relegate it to a dark corner as they spoke in hushed voices telling the padawan stories of past missions, funny memories from the crèche, and even lending their voices to the occasional song. During those times the silence is weakened, subdued, but once the story is told, the memory shared, the song ended the silence always returned, its weight doubled, its presence stifling.

All the while Obi-Wan simply lies there, present yet absent, found yet inexplicably lost. Asleep he is silent. Awake he is silent. When awake he is still, completely unmoving save for the intermittent slow blinking and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He continues to stare out into the empty space above him unaware or unconcerned with the world happening around him. A series of tubes, lines, and humming machines take care of his body's needs, but his master's unwavering presence is provided to take care of the needs of his soul. Qui-Gon's presence is all the master is able to give his padawan within the prison of silence, so he gives it, freely without consideration, condition, or compromise.

* * *

Day 109

"Well you look awful," Tahl teases from the doorway, Vresh standing directly behind her. The two step inside. Tahl frowns slightly when her jest goes unanswered. She moves behind where Qui-Gon is sitting and places a delicate hand on his broad shoulder.

"Has there been any change?" she asks quietly. He shakes his head.

"None. I'm beginning to think... beginning to wonder if..." Qui-Gon's words drift off into the ether unable to speak aloud what he fears in his heart to be true. Tahl tightens the grip on his shoulder.

"You can't let yourself think that way," she says, but he shrugs off her hand as he stands and crosses to the solitary window. The master stands staring out onto the Corsucant skyscape for several seconds before speaking.

"If I lose him..." he mutters, his shoulders tensing, his hands curling into fists seemingly on their own accord. Vresh moves a little closer to his friend, but is careful to keep some distance between them.

"You must let go of your anger, Qui-Gon."

"No. Not until Xanatos pays for what he has done," he answers, his back still turned to his friends.

"There is no room for revenge, Qui. Not for a Jedi. You know that," Tahl offers, but the distraught master swings around to face them, his features twisted in a state of rage neither Jedi had ever before seen.

"I don't care, Tahl! Xanatos _butchered_ him! Carved him up like a piece of meat and then dumped him on our steps like yesterday's refuse!"

"Qui-Gon, I understand your anger, we both do, but," Vresh starts, but Qui-Gon immediately cuts him off.

"Do you know what I heard, what I felt the last day Xanatos unblocked the bond? Do you know what he made me witness?" he pauses as the two masters stare at him, their eyes wide in apprehension. "My padawan," he continues, "my Obi-Wan begging to die! He begged him to let him die! Now, you tell me, Master Tivi, what you would do if it had been Lantis begging to die!"

The words hit their mark like a saber strike. Vresh blanches momentarily and his breath catches as the unwanted images of his mangled, mutilated padawan flash across his inner eye. By sheer force of will he banishes the heart rending pictures and takes a deep cleansing breath, releasing the tension in his mind and body into the arms of the Force.

"I would want to kill him," he begins, in a low and even voice, "but I would hope that I would have the strength not to, that I would have friends to keep me from making a serious mistake."

"This would be no mistake. It would be justice!" Qui-Gon answers.

"It would be revenge," Vresh counters.

"It would be your fall," Tahl adds.

"Then so be it," Qui-Gon answers coldly and then a quiet dulcet tone pierces the pall of the heated exchange, the voice so soft and airy the whisper is almost missed.

Almost.

"No. No, Master. Please, no."

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon says as he runs to the boy's side. Blue-gray eyes no longer stare at the ceiling. Now those eyes seek his own and stare at him with immeasurable sadness.

"Please, no... don't fall to the dark side... Master, please," Obi-Wan whispers, his voice still hoarse for disuse. Qui-Gon takes the boy's hand between his.

"Padawan..."

"Promise me..." Obi-Wan rasps. His eyes demanding what his voice cannot. His blue-gray eyes reach his master's heart and touch the place where he has residence, banishing the cancer that moments ago threatened to displace him. Qui-Gon is rendered helpless under his apprentice's gentle attack.

"Alright, my Padawan. I won't fall. I promise."


	9. Truth and Daring

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan and Padawan Eudo Orn.

**A/N:** Here's chapter nine and I think we are about half way through this little tale. This may not become an issue, but I just wanted to give you readers a heads up—Next week's update _might_ be a little late. I'm writing the last chapter of _Inheritance_ so my focus is on that. As a result, next update may be late or I still may have it ready on time. We shall see, but after this week, this story will be the only one I'm working on (except for my _actual_ novel) so all updates thereafter should be on time and just maybe... early. Okay now, get to reading and enjoy!

**Thanks:**

Capurnia: Sorry I nearly made you late for work, but I'm truly glad you enjoyed it! As your reward, here's a bit of Obi _and_ Qui brooding!

WritingisLife95: Thank you so much! I do try really hard, which is sometimes hard on those around me as I try to let my mind "get into" a character's feelings. Getting the emotive characterization correct is important to me so I am glad you feel I am achieving that goal.

Please Insert Name Here0: Here's a rope! Climb back up... yes, that's it... don't fall... I've got you!

Guest: Thanks! Yes, despite anything Obi-Wan may feel or think we all know how much he loves his master, so I wanted to make sure that was conveyed upon his "waking." And I suspect you're correct about Xanatos. He's not quite done yet...

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 9 – Truth and Daring**

Day 110

Qui-Gon should be relieved, but he isn't. Obi-Wan is awake and responsive, though admittedly not as responsive as his master would like, but the boy is once again at least part of the large world. He is scarred, yes, but in time Qui-Gon believes he can heal, they both can. So why does he still feel like his padawan is lost?

Qui-Gon watches his apprentice through the tiny window imbedded in the door to the private medical suite. The teen is awake and sitting up with his back against the head of his bed, his knees pulled tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped around his knees. He is protecting himself, but from what exactly, the master doesn't know. "Surely the boy knows he is safe in the Temple?" The thought makes Qui-Gon's heart stop. Why _would_ he feel safe? He was taken from the Temple while under his master's care, his master's protection!

Qui-Gon closes his eyes. It is his fault Obi-Wan is anxious and fearful in the one place in all the galaxy he should feel safest. It is his fault that he was taken in the first place. Xanatos was his problem, his mistake, his enemy. Obi-Wan should have never been subject to suffer for his master's sin, but suffered the boy had and greatly. He is still suffering his physical torment only transmuted into a different kind of pain.

Qui-Gon shakes his head, his jaw tightens in new determination. No, he will fix this. He will _not_ fail his padawan again.

Qui-Gon gently pushes open the door to his padawan's room with one hand, in his other he carries a small tray. Obi-Wan doesn't move out of his protective ball, he only stares at his master with wide and anxious eyes. Qui-Gon can feel the Force around the child tense dramatically at his presence. A trace of fear creeps over the bond despite the boy's impressive shielding. Very slowly so not to further frighten the boy, Qui-Gon moves into the room. He holds up the tray and smiles gently at his apprentice.

"I thought you might be hungry. It's pakki broth, your favorite," he says warmly. The reaction he receives is not the one the master expects. Obi-Wan stiffens at his approach, the Force around him nearly screaming in panic. Qui-Gon immediately halts his slow advance.

"Padawan, what's wrong? Are you not hungry?"

"I-I... don't want to... talk," Obi-Wan whispers. Qui-Gon frowns slightly, but quickly recovers.

"We do not have to talk if you do not wish it," he replies gently. Immediately he senses the teen relax a little, but not much. "There is something else?"

"Could you... can I... eat alone?" the boy asks so quietly Qui-Gon has to strain to hear him. The master does not understand the reason for the request, but one look at those pleading and frightened blue-gray eyes is all it takes to decide the matter for him.

"If that is what you want, Padawan," he says as he sets the tray on the medical couch, then backs away. Just before he steps out through the door he pauses and turns back to his padawan noticing that the child has made no move toward the tray of soup or bread.

"I will be back to check on you later," he says. He wants to say more, but he doesn't know the words. Instead the master settles for a smile and a quick burst of love and reassurance across the bond, but as expected his efforts are rebuffed against the boy's mental shields. That would have to be addressed at some point, but not now. Somewhat sadly, Qui-Gon leaves the room closing the door behind him.

* * *

Obi-Wan breaths a sigh of relief the moment Qui-Gon leaves the room and immediately he feels guilty. He should not feel relief when his master leaves him and he should definitely not feel afraid when in his master's presence and yet he felt both these things.

Obi-Wan picks up the rapidly cooling bowl of pakki broth. His master had brought him his favorite food to eat when he is sick. It is a small gesture and Obi-Wan knows it should warm him, but it doesn't. It only reminds him of the overwhelming panic he felt when his master entered his room holding the tray.

_You must be hungry, little padawan..._

Obi-Wan sets the bowl back down on its tray, his appetite banished at the return of the unwanted memory. He put his head down on his knees, biting his bottom lip hard to stop its trembling.

He is home. He is in the Temple, protected by Jedi, by his master. He should feel safe, but he doesn't. He was home before. He was in the Temple, protected by Jedi, protected by his master before and he was _still_ taken. It is impossible for someone to _sneak_ into the Temple. Impossible. So the only explanation is that Xanatos didn't sneak in. The Jedi must have allowed it. It is the only thing that makes sense. There are simply too many powerful Jedi in the building to have allowed such a dark presence to go unnoticed. Masters Yoda, Windu, Gallia, Uvain, Tivi, his own master all of them would have surely sensed a threat. Wouldn't they? Unless... unless there was no threat. Unless the Council permitted him to be taken, after all they had gotten rid of him before, why not again? And what of his master? True, he knew that Qui-Gon had not wanted him as his padawan at first, but over the last few months he had begun to believe his master cared for him. Had he been wrong? Xanatos was his former apprentice. Obi-Wan knew his master had loved the man like a son. Surely, _he_ would have sensed Xanatos's presence in the Temple? Unless he did, but he didn't care.

_Qui-Gon saw your eye? And he did not heal it for you?_

What is he thinking, of course his master didn't care. He was already planning to get rid of him, repudiate him before the High Council. Why not leave him to his fate? "But he _was_ looking for you. He told you so himself. You heard him over the bond. You felt him!" a voice nearly yelled in his head. Obi-Wan covers his ears vainly trying to quiet the arguing voices, the desperate feelings threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

"Stop, please just stop. Leave me alone, please," he sobs, begging to the empty space around him, but, of course, no one hears him and no one comes. He is alone.

* * *

"Hello, Master Jinn."

"Hello, Lantis," Qui-Gon says as he takes a seat next to Tahl and across from Vresh and his padawan. Vresh looks to his friend in mild surprise.

"I thought you were taking midday with Obi-Wan?" he asks. Qui-Gon places his elbows on the table and interlaces his fingers.

"He preferred to eat alone," he answers evenly, but both Tahl and Vresh know there is more to that answer than the expression of simple preference.

"Is... Obi-Wan alright, Master Jinn? I have been worried about him. I mean, I know that he's got the healers and the Force and you taking care of him, but I still worry," the teen Cathar offers meekly in her characteristic purring tones. Qui-Gon offers her a warm smile.

"I know you do, young one, but there is no need. Obi-Wan will recover in time."

"Can I see him?" she asks, her triangular ears rotating forward with hope. Qui-Gon is loathe to disappoint the girl, but he knows that his apprentice is not ready for casual visitors right now.

"Not just yet, I'm afraid. Obi-Wan still needs a lot of rest," he answers, delivering the blow as gently as possible. The girl still seems visibly deflated by his response. Her master turns to face her. He lovingly strokes her cheek being sure to brush against her whiskers—a sign of affection among her species.

"Patience, my Padawan."

"Yes, Master."

"Now, off with you scamp. You have Galactic History in seven minutes," her master orders with a teasing tap on her nose. Lantis smiles (a terrifying thing to Qui-Gon's mind, far too many sharp teeth). The child picks up her tray and bows politely to the table.

"Masters," she says and then she is gone leaving the three elder Jedi alone at the table. Tahl wastes no time.

"What happened?" she asks turning in her seat to face Qui-Gon more directly. The master lowers his head.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," he begins. He raises his head looking to both of his friends as he speaks. "When I walked in with the food he... panicked."

"You mean you startled him?" Vresh asks. Qui-Gon shakes his head.

"No, he was not surprised by my presence. He was alarmed by it. It was almost as if..."

"As if what, Qui?" Tahl prompts gently. Qui-Gon takes a moment to swallow the lump that seems to have spontaneously formed in his throat at that very second.

"As if he were afraid of me."

"Well, he probably was, Qui," she answers. The master turns to her in shock. A look of immense hurt flashes across his face causing her to immediately curse her word choice. "What I mean is he is probably afraid of everyone and everything right now. I wouldn't be surprised if he's jumping at shadows for the next few weeks."

Qui-Gon shakes his head as he leans back in his seat.

"I don't know," he mumbles. "It feels like more."

"What else did you sense from him? Did he tell you why he wanted to eat alone?" Vresh inquires as he pushes his neglected meal to the side.

"He's shielding heavily from me."

"From everyone," Tahl corrects.

"Everyone including _me_," Qui-Gon replies sharply. "And no, he didn't say why he wanted to eat alone, but he did make it very clear he did _not_ want to talk to me." Here the master pauses as he reflects back on the puzzling exchange. "In fact, it seemed as if the thought of talking to me is what frightened him most."

"Understandable," Vresh responds. "Talking about his experience will force him to re-live the whole ordeal and right now he's just not ready for that."

"How can I help him if I can't sense him or talk to him? How can I help him if he fears me?" Qui-Gon asks, his deep baritone made deeper with his frustration and desperation. Tahl takes his hand in hers squeezing it gently.

"You help him by giving him what he needs."

"He doesn't want me around," Qui-Gon counters. Tahl shakes her head.

"This isn't about what he wants, Qui-Gon. You are his master. You must give your padawan what he _needs_," she tells him bluntly, but not unkindly. With his free hand Qui-Gon rubs the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. The master sighs and opens his eyes.

"You are right, of course," he says then he turns to Vresh. "Thank you both."

"You know we are all here for you and Obi-Wan," Vresh states as he places his hand on top of his friends' clasped hands. "Now, off with you too, scamp. Go see to your padawan."

Qui-Gon nods and rises to his feet. He pauses before stepping away from the table. The master looks to his white haired friend.

"By the way," the master glares, "had you attempted to tap my nose you would have lost the hand."

Vresh smiles and throws up his hands in mock surrender as the dark haired master stalkes away.

"Wouldn't dream of it, scamp!"

* * *

Obi-Wan is still huddled into himself when he hears a knock at his door. Surprised and confused the young Jedi says nothing at first, but soon a second round of knocking follows. Obi-Wan decides it may be best to answer.

"C-Come in?" he squeaks. Instantly, Obi-Wan frowns at the child-like tenor of his own voice. The door to his room opens slowly revealing the tall figure of his master.

"How are you feeling, Padawan?" the master asks still barely inside the room. Obi-Wan is puzzled by his master's hesitation, but is secretly glad for the distance.

"I'm fine, Master," he answers. Qui-Gon slowly steps further into the room. He spies the still full bowl of soup and untouched bread.

"You didn't eat," he says. Obi-Wan drops his gaze becoming intensely focused on his bare toes.

"No, Master," he replies in a small voice.

"Why?"

Obi-Wan shrugs.

"I lost my appetite," he replies still entranced with his feet. Qui-Gon takes a few steps toward the medical sleeper couch and reaches out for the tray. Obi-Wan instinctively scrambles back from his master, pressing himself into the wall at the head of his bed aggravating his still healing ribs, wrist, and shoulder in the sudden movement. He sees his master cringe slightly, but then his face returns to its usual neutral expression. Only the sadness in his dark blue eyes betrays his master's true feelings.

Qui-Gon removes the tray and places it on the bedside table. Instead of returning to the bed, the old man walks over to the window, his back to the apprentice. For several long moments he doesn't speak. Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do with himself in the silence. Inside his head conflicting emotions battle for his attention. Part of him wants nothing more than to call his master to his side, wrap his arms around his strong frame, and scream, cry, and gnash his teeth weeping into his master's robes in unabashedly un-Jedi like behavior. But there is another part of him that fears his master's presence; a part that jumps every time the tall man opens his mouth or reaches out to touch him.

"Master," he begins hesitantly, "I want to... ask you something, but you must answer me honestly or not at all." Obi-Wan knows his demand of his master is inappropriate. It is not an apprentice's place to require anything of his master other than to be taught, but Obi-Wan doesn't care about being appropriate. There is something he has to know. For his part, Qui-Gon doesn't reprimand the apprentice for his boldness. Instead, he answers the request calmly and directly, but he does not turn away from the window.

"Ask. I will answer," his master replies. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. Here goes.

"Are you going to dismiss me as your padawan? Repudiate me before the Council?" he blurts out quickly lest he pauses and loses his nerve. At this his master does turn to face him. Obi-Wan notices his master's eyes are rimmed in red, a shimmering trail is barely visible tracing down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard. Had his master been... crying?

"Of course not! Why would you think that?" his master answers. Obi-Wan cannot be sure, but it almost seems as if he has hurt his master's feelings with the question, but that couldn't be true. The evidence was clear, his logic infallible.

"After my fight with Bruck you... you didn't punish me...," Obi-Wan replies, his voice trailing off. His argument seems so weak as he speaks it, but he was right, wasn't he? It made so much sense earlier.

"Padawan, I didn't punish you right then because... I wasn't sure if you deserved it. While it is true you should not have allowed yourself to lose control, the fault is not entirely your own," the tall master says. Then he does something totally unexpected. Obi-Wan watches as his master drops to one knee, his head held low in a traditional pose of submission.

"Padawan, I have been a poor master to you. At the Temple, on the _Monument_, and again on Bandomeer, I rejected you out of my own fear and stubborness. It was never any fault of yours, Obi-Wan, only my own. I was a fool and a poor servant of the Force. I was blind and, though unintentional, my actions harmed you, yet even so you have always honored me with your compassion and selflessness. I have been unworthy of you and your loyalty, my Padawan. My behavior was ill befitting a master of the Order." Here his master pauses. He raises his gaze and looks directly into Obi-Wan's eyes.

"I will _never_ dismiss or repudiate you, Obi-Wan. You are my padawan from now until your knighting if you will have me. I humbly beg your forgiveness and for a second chance to serve as your master. I will... understand if you choose not to grant me this."

Obi-Wan is wide-eyed and speechless. He had imagined many different outcomes, many different answers to his question, but never had he imagined that his master, possibly the greatest Jedi in the Order next to Master Yoda himself, would ever prostrate himself and beg his apprentice for forgiveness. He had not imagined it because such a thing was _unimaginable_ and yet the scene had just played out before his very eyes.

His eyes. Qui-Gon is still looking at his eyes waiting for his answer. Did he even have one? Honestly, Obi-Wan isn't sure. Qui-Gon frowns slightly, but otherwise remains unmoved.

"You do not wish me as your master," he says in a subdued, but even tone.

"I do! I do want you as my master. It's just that..."

"You fear me."

"No, I don't fear you, Master," Obi-Wan answers. A rueful smile graces his master's face as he seems to realize the answer that Obi-Wan himself doesn't know.

"You don't trust me," Qui-Gon intones. Obi-Wan is unable to hold his master's sad gaze. He looks down choosing instead to focus on his toes.

"I-I want to, but... no, I don't trust you."

* * *

The boy's words hit the master like a punch in the gut. Obi-Wan didn't trust him, but as hurtful as that truth was, the irony of it is not lost on Qui-Gon. It was his own misplaced fear of betrayal that caused his padawan's current mistrust of him as the boy's master. Trust is the foundation of the master/padawan partnership, without it there is nothing. There can be no team if there is no trust.

"What happens now?" a small voice asks pulling the master from his thoughts. Qui-Gon slowly stands, but he steps no closer to the teen. He knows that rebuilding a broken trust will be a difficult path for both of them, but he knows that since he is the cause of the break the first step must be his.

"What happens now is you reopen the bond and I show you."

"Show me what?"

"Everything," Qui-Gon answers and with that final word he drops all his shields offering the child unfettered access to his most inner self. Obi-Wan senses the change and shakes his head furiously.

"No, Master. I can't. It isn't right," he states defiantly. Qui-Gon smiles warmly at his charge.

"I trust you, Padawan and I want you to trust me. The only way for that to happen is for you to know the truth," he says and then he closes his eyes. Obi-Wan is hesitant at first because it is several moments before Qui-Gon feels the boy's presence timidly brush against his mind. Slowly, the boy's probe pushes deeper and Qui-Gon offers no resistance allowing the apprentice to move about his thoughts unrestricted.

At first, the survey is superficial, merely testing the sincerity of the offer, but then Qui-Gon senses a sharp narrowing in Obi-Wan's focus. He is looking for something. Suddenly, both Jedi are inundated with the master's thoughts, feelings, and impressions about his apprentice. Obi-Wan wants to know what his master really thinks of him, what Qui-Gon truly feels. Images flash across his inner eye: a pair of deep and penetrating blue-gray eyes, a flawlessly executed saber kata, a warm and mischievous grin. There are sounds as well: a boy's laughter, an accented voice speaking in lilting, dulcet tones, the whirring hum of a lightsaber. But mostly there are feelings: pride, amusement, joy, respect. Love. He feels Obi-Wan pauses here basking briefly in the revelation, but then his focus changes. He has another question that needs answering. The young Jedi dives beneath the master's feelings about the padawan traveling down until he reaches another level of emotions—Qui-Gon's feelings about himself regarding his apprentice. The sounds and images here are dark and disjointed, often passing too fast to catch more than a general impression: the sound of sabers clashing, bright blue eyes filled with hate, bright blue-gray eyes filled with hope, the sound of sizzling flesh, a boy with a broken circle, a man with a broken heart. The emotions that accompany the impressions are just as discordant, but powerful: sadness, grief, betrayal, despair, pain, shame, fear. Guilt. Tremendous guilt. Guilt for the past. Guilt for the present. It is the heavy guilt of failing not one, but two padawans.

Obi-Wan's probe pulls away quickly, an audible gasp echoing in the small room. Slowly, the master opens his eyes. Qui-Gon looks to his apprentice, but the boy refuses to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Master. I shouldn't have..."

"It is alright, Obi-Wan. I should have shared these things with you from the start and I apologize for that, but I'm glad you know now," he says. Finally, the boy raises his head and looks to his master.

"I'm glad too, Master."

* * *

Day 111

"Good morning, Padawan."

"Good morning, Master."

"I've brought you first meal," Qui-Gon says as he sits the tray of juice, fruit, and pastries on the foot of the bed. He pulls back to the door. "I'll be back to check on you," he says as he turns to leave. Obi-Wan bites his bottom lip as he debates with himself, then suddenly he finds his hand surging forward.

"Master!" he yells. Qui-Gon stops halfway through the door. "You can stay, Master. That is, if you want to," Obi-Wan finishes softly. Qui-Gon carefully schools his expression trying to keep hidden the delight and hope he feels warming his chest.

"I would like that, Padawan, but only if it is something you are comfortable with."

"I am," Obi-Wan answers, then he quickly adds, "but you can't sit in that chair and... you need to eat with me not just watch me."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows raise minutely at the strange requests, but he nonetheless accedes to them without hesitation.

"As you wish," he answers as he walks back into the room and sits on the edge of the boy's bed, sliding the tray of food between them. He picks up a cubed piece of fruit and pops it into his mouth. Obi-Wan smiles slightly as he begins to eat as well though with more enthusiasm than his master. After eating for several minutes in silence, Obi-Wan's hands fall into his lap, his gaze following them.

"You want to ask me why I made you do it this way, don't you?" he asks without looking up at his master. Qui-Gon places the fruit in his hand back down on the tray.

"I do, but I will not push you to tell me," he answers. Obi-Wan wrings his hands before releasing a long and heavy sigh.

"He would always bring me food. He would sit in a chair and watch me. I-I could only eat if... if I would talk to him," he says without looking up.

"Is that why you don't want to talk?" Qui-Gon asks gently. Obi-Wan nods still determinately fixated on anything other than his master. "What did he want you to talk about?"

"Nothing really," he says then he looks up at his master. "But every time we talked afterwards I felt... empty," he nearly whispers. Qui-Gon is silent for several moments then he takes a deep breath still watching his apprentice.

"When Xanatos talked to you, he would ask you questions?" the master asks. Obi-Wan nods, but says nothing. "Alright then, we shall talk, but this time, Padawan, you will ask the questions and I will answer. You will be in complete control. You will decide what we talk about and when the discussion is over. Can you do this?" the master asks. Obi-Wan stares at his master for sometime before answering.

"Yes, Master. I think I can do that," he replies. Qui-Gon gives him a small nod and waits for him to begin. Suddenly, Obi-Wan doesn't know what to say. He feels the blush rise in his cheeks and turns his gaze away from his master choosing instead to absently push a pastry around on the nearly empty tray. Finally, a thought does come to his mind.

"Your master, Master Dooku, you still... talk to him right?" he asks without lifting his head. Qui-Gon is surprised by the choice of topics, but he is careful not to show it for fear of discouraging his apprentice from continuing.

"Yes, we contact each other on occasion. At times I still seek his advice," he answers. Obi-Wan finds himself nodding as this answer was expected.

"Your first padawan, Feemor, he met Master Dooku?"

The line of questioning is getting stranger and stranger to the old man, but once again his answers his apprentice unerringly.

"Yes, I believe he did."

"Xanatos met Dooku too?"

"Yes."

"Why... why haven't I?" Obi-Wan asks finally looking up at his master. Qui-Gon is unable to prevent the frown that flickers across his expression.

"Do you want to meet him, Padawan?" the elder Jedi asks. Obi-Wan just shrugs his left shoulder, his right still sore from the dislocation.

"I don't know, maybe. It's just that... I know now how you feel about me, but..."

"But you think because I didn't introduce to my former master that I am ashamed of you somehow?" Qui-Gon finishes for him. Obi-Wan nods, biting at his bottom lip. His gaze once again drops from his master to a spot on the tray.

"Xanatos said that you liked to show off your padawans to your master, that you would have dinners with Master Dooku so he could see how good your apprentices were."

Immediately, Qui-Gon's mouth sets into a hard line, a ripple of frustration and anger pulses in the Force around them. Obi-Wan's gaze shoots up to his master at the disturbance. It takes the master a moment to release his ire and return his focus.

"Obi-Wan, I can tell in absolute honesty that I have never presented my padawans to anyone for the sole purpose of bragging. Though they have met, there were no dinners with Dooku for my former padawans. Any meetings were created by circumstance, not design," Qui-Gon replies. He pauses as his expression softens some. "Master Dooku was a good master and I am thankful for everything he taught me, but... we never had the relationship I had hoped for. It is not often that we speak, but if you wish to meet him I will not deny you."

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan replies softly, not really knowing what else to say. Xanatos had lied to him. He shouldn't be surprised at this and yet a small part of him is. A tale-tell line appears between Obi-Wan's furrowed brows and his master knows the boy is thinking through something difficult, sorting evidence from emotion, fact from feelings. The master waits patiently for several minutes before saying anything. Eventually he speaks, placing a hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder.

"Obi-Wan, we will have to... talk about what happened to you," the master informs him, his deep baritone oddly gentle and comforting. Obi-Wan nods his head.

"I know, Master, but... can it just... not be today?" he asks looking up into his mentor's midnight colored eyes. The boy's request is rewarded with a soft smile.

"No, my Padawan, it need not be today."


	10. Terms and Conditions

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan and Padawan Eudo Orn.

**A/N:** Here's chapter ten. This one is actually much shorter than I originally intended, but I figured it would be better to crank out a short chapter now and get back on schedule rather than a long chapter and next week's update be late as well. So... this chapter is actually half of the original chapter with chapter eleven making up the remaining half. As a result, I'm sorry if this one ends a little choppy, but hopefully starting Monday I will be back on schedule!

**Thanks:**

ErinKenobi2893: Yes there are some striking similarities between the influence Sidious wielded and the influence Xanatos is currently wielding, but Sidious had the benefit of time that our dark ex-Jedi does not, so his plans are a little... different.

Please Insert Name Here0: Don't look down! You're never supposed to look down! Oh, well, hope the rope holds. You've got a long climb and the end of this chapter won't help!

Julzdagger88: Wow! Thank you for the compliment. Your review literally made my day! And, oh yes, there is much more Xanatos on the way... namely chapters12-15 if things go to plan, but then again my plans work out as well as Jinn/Kenobi's "simple" missions, so who knows?

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 10– Terms and Conditions**

Day 113

"You're supposed to be resting, Padawan."

"I'm not sleepy."

"Don't tell me you're already hungry again," Qui-Gon says with a smirk. "Perhaps I should have the healers check you for parasites."

"Very funny, Master," Obi-Wan replies with a mild glower. "Actually, I am a little thirsty."

Qui-Gon rises from his chair by Obi-Wan's bedside and crosses to the small table to his left. He fills a small flimsiplast cup with water from the nearby pitcher. He hands the cup to his apprentice who takes it with an appreciative nod and smile. The master gives a small nod in return and turns to resume his post when an unexpected exclamation stops him.

"Kark!" Obi-Wan yells. The master turns to his apprentice, eyebrow raised at the expletive. "Sorry, Master," the boy mumbles. Qui-Gon picks up the now empty cup from where it threatens to roll off the small sleeping couch. He watches as Obi-Wan cradles his still shaking hand to his chest in an attempt to arrest its tremulous motion. Except for the hard line of his mouth, the boy's face is expressionless, but more than a whiff of frustration leaks over the bond. Qui-Gon removes the damp blanket and the empty cup.

"It's alright, Padawan. It is just water. No harm done," he says gently as he replaces the blanket. He pours another cup of water and moves toward his apprentice. He raises the cup toward Obi-Wan's lips in an offer to help him drink, but the teenager turns his head away; shunning the help and unintentionally flooding the bond with more frustration with added traces of shame and despair. Swallowing a sigh, Qui-Gon sets the cup on the small bedside table. He reaches for the child's still trembling hand pulling it gently, but firmly away from his chest. The master turns the hand palm up and begins to massage and smooth the many twitching muscles.

"Do you remember what Healer Songe said about these muscle tremors, Padawan?" the master asks.

"Yes. He said it is a side-effect of the electropulsars Xanatos used," the boy mumbles. Qui-Gon nods.

"Yes, but Healer Songe also told you that the tremors would abate in time. Be patient, Padawan, and in no time you will be back in the salles besting your agemates with ease," he smiled.

"How can you say that," Obi-Wan asks, incredulity and outrage warring on his face. He tries to snatch his hand away, but the master holds both his hand and his gaze firmly.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon begins, but Obi-Wan interrupts him.

"I can't even hold a cup! How am I going to hold a lightsaber!" the boy yells. His eyes become glassy as tears threaten. He turns his head away, but ahand under his chin and his master's stern voice force his gaze to return.

"Obi-Wan, you have been injured, badly, and it will take time to recover, but you will recover, that I promise you," the master says. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to protest, but an unexpected voice stops the apprentice before he can begin.

"I hope I am not disturbing you," a deep voice calls from the doorway. Qui-Gon turns his gaze to the door never ceasing his massage of his apprentice's hand.

"Not at all, Mace. My padawan and I were simply discussing the Jedi tenet of patience," he answers pleasantly ignoring the sever glare of his apprentice. Mace gives a knowing nod and steps fully into the room. Only then does the teenager truly notice the Korun master's presence. The boy's response surprises his master. Qui-Gon frowns as he senses the subtle change in his padawan. His eyes widened, his entire body tenses, and tendrils of fear and discomfort leak through the boy's shields. The response increases in intensity with each step the Councilor takes. Mace must have sensed something as well as he stops himself short of the foot of Obi-Wan's medical couch. Nothing, however, appears on the Council member's face outside of his typical calm expression.

"How are you feeling, Padawan Kenobi?" the Councilor asks. The boy doesn't respond only continues to stare wide-eyed at his visitor. Qui-Gon is concerned with his apprentice's reaction, but even so he cannot let this breach in protocol go unanswered.

"Padawan," he begins sternly, "Master Windu has asked you a question."

The use of his masterly tone prompts the desired result. The boy shakes out of his mute and frozen state, but Qui-Gon can tell that the boy's fear remains.

"My... apologies, Master Windu. I am feeling much better, thank you," Obi-Wan replies meekly, but respectfully. Mace shoots Qui-Gon a discreet glance and the master responds with an equally subtle nod.

"The Council will be pleased to hear you are," the Councilor begins as he advances toward the bed, but, though he reaches his destination, he never gets to finish his statement. Seemingly the moment he began his approach the young Jedi sprang into desperate action yanking his hand from his master's grasp and scrambling gracelessly out of his bed and into the room's far corner; leads and sensors ripping off his body, blood dripping slowly from the wrist that previously held his IV. The shrill alarm from the medical monitors echoed loudly in the room, their siren wails playing a harsh counter-point to the stillness of all three Jedi.

Before the trio can move, Healer Songe sweeps into the room, his sharp orange eyes taking in the entire scene before settling on his patient who is currently backing himself into a corner. The healer moves cautiously toward the boy, silencing the alarms with a gentle application of the Force. He studies his patient closely as he draws near. Obi-Wan doesn't appear to notice the healer's approach, the child's eyes instead glued in wide-eyed terror to the Council member standing a scant few meters away. Even when the Mirialan is right in front of the boy his presence is ignored. Qui-Gon takes a single step forward, the medical couch still separating the master from his charge.

"Padawan?" he calls, but Obi-Wan's gaze never lifts off Master Windu's tall and stoic figure. Songe's eyes drift over the droplets of blood collecting noiselessly on the floor. He looks back up at the young Jedi before him.

"Obi-Wan, can you hear me?" the healer asks gently. "Look at me, Obi-Wan."

The boy's eyes never move, but when Mace takes an experimental step forward, Obi-Wan's entire body tenses as he pushes himself harder against the wall as if he were able to fall through it by sheer force of will. Songe has seen enough. He places two fingers on the boy's forehead.

"Sleep," the healer commands and instantly the child's eyes close and his body falls limply into the healer's waiting arms. Songe cradles the small form then lays him gently back onto the bed.

"Anyone care to tell me what that was about?" he says as he cleans the child's slightly bloodied arm and replaces his IV. Qui-Gon places one hand on his padawan's brow the other holds the boy's right hand. He shakes his head.

"I have no idea. From the moment Mace walked in he was in a state of fright."

"I'd describe it more as terror," Mace intones. Qui-Gon nods as he absently watches Master Songe replace the sensor leads monitoring Obi-Wan's heart and respiratory rate.

"I have never seen that kind of fear in him, not even on Bandomeer," the master replies. He turns a worried gaze to the master healer. "What would cause this sort of reaction? What I felt through the bond was... visceral, almost primal fear... and at Mace... why?"

"I don't believe it was just at me," Windu interjects. The two masters look at the Councilor waiting for him to continue. Mace frowns, his brow creasing in deep thought. "The Force disturbance his fear created increased exponentially when I mentioned the Council. I think he was more afraid of _what_ I am rather than _who_ I am."

"The question still remains as to why," Qui-Gon reiterates. Healer Songe closes his eyes as he performs a detailed Force scan of Obi-Wan's body. He places his hands at the boy's temples, his own brow wrinkling in concentration. When the healer opens his eyes, the two masters are staring at him intently.

"If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that the boy has been subjected to some sort of conditioning," Songe begins, but then he shakes his head. "In truth, such things are beyond my area of expertise. You need to consult a soul healer as sooner rather than later, but I see no reason he has to remain here during that time. When he wakes I can discharge him to your care, Master Jinn, along with instructions detailing his continued recovery," the healer says as he gives the surrounding monitors one last appraisal.

"Obi-Wan has never been overly fond of the Healer's Ward," Qui-Gon answers with a wry smile. "I am sure that he will be happy to continue his recovery in his own quarters," Qui-Gon says as he straightens his back and looks directly at the master healer. "I will make the necessary arrangements with one of the Temple's soul healers and will strictly follow any instructions you provide."

Ar Songe nods his acknowledgement, but offers nothing more. Mace crosses his arms over his chest. He stares down upon the young sleeping Jedi before him, a frown still sitting heavily on his normally neutral features.

"Master Songe, alert the Council if you have any needs regarding Kenobi's recovery and provide us with regular updates on his progress or changes," the Councilor says to the healer who nods. Mace then turns his attention to his friend. His expression softens slightly. "Qui, you have my personal assurance that all of the Temple's resources are at your disposal," he says. Qui-Gon is unable to keep the emotion from his voice or face as he responds to the Councilor's heartfelt offer.

"Thank you, my friend."

* * *

Obi-Wan awakens into the contentedly dull state of confusion that usually accompanies the general grogginess of deep sleep. Unfortunately, his happy ignorance does not last as the moments just before his forced slumber come crashing back into his memory.

He remembers he had been scared. No, not scared, terrified.

_A collection of the most powerful Jedi in the Order..._

When Obi-Wan originally noticed Master Windu had come into his room his first instinct was to run. He thought of the window, but that was sealed and he would also have to get past his master to follow that route. The door was a no-go as Windu himself stood nearly in front of it. That's when Obi-Wan realized he was trapped.

_They can sense disturbances in the Force from across the galaxy..._

So preoccupied with his need to escape he had failed to notice that the High Council member had addressed him. It had taken his own master's irritated admonishment to remind him of his expected role. Obi-Wan remembered answering the Councilor's question about his health with some degree of calm, but then... then he saw the master move closer to him... cornering him... trapping him.

_And yet you believe that somehow I just walked in without any of those esteemed masters even batting an eye..._

Obi-Wan knew he had to get away from that man. Jedi or not, he was a member of the Council and everything inside Obi-Wan screamed that he could not be trusted. He had to get away. Had to run, but there was nowhere to run to.

Nowhere to run.

Acting purely on instinct, he had jumped out of his bed, paying no heed to the monitors he launched into alarms, only dimly aware of the IV that had ripped from his arm, and completely ignorant of the blood that must have flowed from the resulting open wound.

_ And you believe you can trust them..._

The last thing he remembered was pulling himself deep into a corner and the Councilor still advancing on him... still advancing... advancing...

Even the memory of the event caused that same fear to grow inside him stomach. He forced himself to take a few calming breaths.

"You're awake."

Obi-Wan reluctantly opened his eyes, turning his head to the side until he met his master's gaze. He had not been sure what he expected to see in those familiar dark blue eyes... disappointment... anger maybe... but what he does see surprises him. His master's eyes seem... worried, maybe even a little afraid.

"Yes, Master," he says as he pulls himself into a seated position. Qui-Gon remains seated by his bedside, his hands clasped, fingers interlaced and hanging low between his widely planted legs.

"Padawan," he begins and Obi-Wan knows what's coming next; the inevitable questions about why he had tried to flee from a Council member. Qui-Gon pauses, seemingly mulling over his words before speaking again. "Master Songe has agreed to release you to my care. We can return to our quarters whenever you wish."

The statement takes Obi-Wan by surprise.

"Our quarters?" he repeats softly. His master frowns.

"I would think the prospect of escape from the Healer's Ward would have elicited a stronger reaction," the tall master says, then he leans forward, a deep trench creasing his brow. "You do want to go home, don't you Padawan?"

Obi-Wan can see the slight plea in his master's gaze. The silent entreaty pulls at his heart compelling him to do something that until this exact moment he had never once considered doing. Ever.

Obi-Wan lies to his master.

"Of course I want to go home, Master. When can we go?" he says. The smile he sees blossom on Qui-Gon's face is enough to wash nearly all of the guilt from his mind. Nearly.

"I will fetch Master Songe and then we can be on our way."

* * *

The walk "home" was, in a word, torturous both physically and mentally for Qi-Gon's padawan. When Obi-Wan was discharged, Healer Songe had suggested the boy use a hover chair for the several minute walk to his quarters, but in an almost endearingly familiar bout of obstinate self-sufficiency, the teenager had refused any assistance insisting that he could walk the meager distance. Initially, both masters had objected, but in the end they had allowed the boy's stubbornness to win out.

So master and padawan had set about their journey home at a subdued pace. The halls had been busier than the master would have liked, but most of the unwanted glances and outright stares were easily diverted by his own masterly glare. The two Jedi were about half way to their apartment when Qui-Gon noticed his apprentice had begun to lag behind. The master slowed to a halt, turning to study his apprentice. He saw that the boy was winded and trying desperately not to show it. He also noted that Obi-Wan's entire face was lined with exhaustion, his body appearing as if it would give out at any moment.

"Perhaps it would be best if I carried you the rest of the way to our quarters," the master suggested. As he anticipated his offer was immediately and rather defiantly rejected.

"I can walk, Master."

"Yes, but you are clearly exhausted, Padawan," the master replied. The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Qui-Gon's raised hand forestalled the objection. "It is not weakness to listen to and respect the limits of one's own body particularly during times of injury or illness."

"Master," the boy pleaded, "I _can_ do this."

With a heavy sigh and a purposeful disregard of his better judgment, Qui-Gon acquiesced. The pair resumed their slow and steady pace toward their destination. They had just turned onto the hall that housed their apartment when Qui-Gon sensed a flicker of distress across the bond. He turned around just in time to see the tremor begin in his padawan's left leg. A second later, the boy's knee buckled, but his master's quick reflexes caught him before he hit the floor. Before his apprentice could voice any further protest, his master scooped him up and carried the teen the remaining distance to their shared quarters. Once inside he placed the boy on the large couch of their common room and proceeded to massage the new spasm away. After the boy's muscles were successfully quieted, the master covered his charge with blanket then stepped away to brew some tea.

Since that time the two had remained in uncomfortable silence until master decided that the necessary conversation could no longer be avoided.

"Padawan."

"Yes, Master."

"We need to talk about what happened earlier today," Qui-Gon says as he quietly sets downs his empty cup. He looks to his apprentice, but Obi-Wan doesn't met his gaze determinedly fascinated with his own cooling cup.

"I know, but... I don't really _know_ what happened, Master."

"Then it is something we will figure out together," the old master says as he watches his apprentice sit down his beverage and turn to face him; a look of fear and resignation on his young face.

"Obi-Wan, tell me what were your first thoughts when Master Windu came to visit you?"

"Run," the boy answers without hesitation. "I felt an overwhelming urge to escape the room at any cost," he says then a sheepish grin creeps across his face. "I even briefly considered tackling you so I could escape out the window, but I thought better of it."

Qui-Gon quirks an eyebrow at his padawan.

"You grow wiser everyday, my Padawan," he replies wryly. "Why did you feel you needed to escape?" the master asks, his demeanor serious once more. The smile fades from his apprentice's face as well.

"I just knew I wasn't... safe anymore... not with him there..."

_And you believe you can trust them..._

"Can't trust them... any of them," Obi-Wan intones, his voice almost mechanical to his master's ear.

"The Council?" he asks. The question causes the boy to start, snapping him quickly out of the brief trance.

"What? I-I'm sorry, Master. I must have lost focus. What were you saying?"

"I asked was it the Council you felt you couldn't trust," Qui-Gon repeats, but Obi-Wan's expression is still one of intense confusion.

"Why wouldn't I trust the Council?"


	11. Weak Stomachs and Waning Appetites

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan and Padawan Eudo Orn.

**A/N:** Here's chapter eleven (also known as the other half of chapter ten ). This one is a little shorter since it wasn't originally meant to stand alone, but eh... what are you gonna do ya, know? Anyhoo, I expect from here on out to be back on schedule with new updates coming ever Monday. Enjoy!

**Thanks:**

ErinKenobi2893: Yes, you beat that evil son of Sith with that frying pan. He certainly deserves it and much more as you will come to find out.

Julzdagger88: Oh, I'm so glad it gave you goosebumps! And guess what? Your wait is over. Here is a new chapter!

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 11– Weak Stomachs and Waning Appetites **

Day 113

Despite his trepidation regarding the inevitable conversation on the weird events of earlier, Obi-Wan had at least hoped that talking things through with his master would answer some of the questions bouncing around his skull. Yet after the discussion he felt more confused than ever.

Obi-Wan reclined on the couch thinking. He could hear his master fussing nearby with a datapad, probably catching up on his correspondence or some personal research. For the first time in a long while, the silence between the Jedi is comfortable if not companionable, that is until Obi-Wan's stomach decides to break the peaceful quiet. His master's voice immediately follows the intense growling.

"Blast it!"

"Master?" Obi-Wan replies worriedly as he sits up. He watches as his master rises from his seat at the small table near the shared balcony wearing an apologetic half smile.

"I'm sorry, Padawan, that was not directed at you," he says as he comes to stand before him. "I was just remembering that I had agreed to have lastmeal with Master Tahl here in our quarters. I had not then known you would be released and I can appreciate if you are not yet up to receiving more visitors."

Obi-Wan knows his master is offering him a way out, a no-apologies-or-explanations-necessary reason to say no to their potential dinner guest and for that the padawan is relieved, but Obi-Wan also knows that Master Tahl is his master's closest friend and one of the masters who had volunteered to search for him. "Search for him, but not find him," a voice in his head sneers, but Obi-Wan easily dismisses the unfair criticism. He had met Master Tahl on several occasions and she was always nice and warm to him, plus she meant a lot to his master and that, by itself, was nearly enough to make the decision for him.

"No, Master, I would welcome Master Tahl's company and it would give me an opportunity to thank her for her help in searching for me," he says in his best approximation of his master's mask of serenity. The effort seems to be appreciated as his master smiles warmly and a sensation of pride and love is sent over the bond.

"In that case, I suppose I ought to make my way down to the refectory and get us something to eat," his master says as he reaches for his cloak. "I will only be a minute," he says as he heads to the door.

Before Obi-Wan has a chance to think, he tosses off his blanket and jumps hurriedly to his feet, his arms outstretched toward his master.

"No! Don't!" he screams, then he remembers himself. He puts his hands by his sides and lowers his head to his chin. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. "Forgive me, Master."

Qui-Gon does not move. He remains frozen in place, his expression unreadable as he studies his apprentice.

"Perhaps I can persuade Master Tahl to procure our meal. That way she can choose what she would most enjoy, after all, she is our guest," the master offers after a long moment's thought. Obi-Wan is unable to hid the relieved smile that comes to his lips.

"I think that would be best, Master."

* * *

Outwardly, the master is calm, his expression a well worn mask of serenity, but inside his mind Qui-Gon Jinn mutters a long string of curses that would make even the slimiest Hutt blush to hear it. What had he been thinking! The truth was he had not been thinking. Indeed, the master's past few hours had been a ill-timed exercise in rampant unmindfullness.

First, he had allowed the boy to walk to their quarters when clearly the teen had not recovered enough strength to attempt such a task. Then he had allowed his dinner plans with Tahl to utterly slip his mind only remembering it half an hour prior to the agreed upon dinner hour. And now... now the old master's thoughtlessness had reached new and dizzying heights. Qui-Gon had all but sent the boy into a blind panic. How could he have been so foolish as to forget that the last time Obi-Wan was in their quarters his master had left him alone and, subsequently, the boy had been abducted, abused, disfigured... broken. The old master inwardly shuddered. He was being careless when what his padawan needed most from his was care. Obi-Wan needed his master to be in the moment, fully. It would be his attentive guidance and support that would be the key to navigating the child through the over three month long nightmare.

Qui-Gon closes his eyes for a moment and silently makes a solemn vow to the Force that he would not fail this wonderful child of light again. Just as he opens his eyes, the door chime sounds. Qui-Gon opens the door with a wave of his hand and in steps Tahl; her dark hair pulled tightly behind her, her gold and green stripped eyes flashing brightly as they lock with his. She holds several neatly stacked boxes in her hands.

"Dinner has arrived," she opens with a smile as she walks to the small dining table and begins to unload the steaming portions. The door to the 'fresher slides open and out steps an auburn haired apprentice. Qui-Gon watches as the teen drifts over to the table pulled almost magnetically to the feast being laid out before him.

"Ah, there's my other handsome Jedi. I forgot that food is always the best bait to catch a padawan... and the occasional master," she smiles with a wink to Obi-Wan. Just as the master plans, her teasing words instantly disarm the boy and put him at ease.

"Good evening, Master Tahl," he says with a slight bow. He sits down and hungrily stares at the food in front of him, but makes no move toward it. Tahl regards him thoughtfully then looks to Qui-Gon.

"Well, your padawan has impeccable manners, though I suspect that has little to do with your influence, Qui," she laughs. Qui-Gon makes his best attempt at appearing wounded by her jest as she turns her attention back to Obi-Wan. "No need to stand on ceremony with me, Obi-Wan. Dig in."

Qui-Gon's apprentice needs no further prompting as he indeed begins to "dig in" heaping mountains of spicy la'tan noodles on to his plate. The two masters take their seats and move to fix their plates as well.

"You would not believe who comm'd me today," Tahl says as she spoons out a serving of parilap bar-b-que onto her plate.

"Who?" Qui-Gon asks as he shovels in a mouthful of salad greens.

"Oman Ralote."

"No," the master answers with an incredulous, but slightly mischievous smile.

"My hand to the stars he messaged me completely out of the blue."

Finally, Jinn's poor padawan can take it no longer.

"Who is Oman Ralote?" he asks hoping desperately that he is not overstepping his bounds. Tahl turns to him with a smirk.

"Oman Ralote is a rather officious merona from Apri VI."

"Merona?" Obi-Wan asks between mouthfuls. Qui-Gon turns to his apprentice.

"An official of diplomatic standing somewhat between a barrister and a,"

"Serrellian chuc lizard," Tahl supplied. The old master quirks an eyebrow at his friend.

"I was going to say senator, but I suppose chuc lizard will do," he replies in his typical diplomatic tones. Obi-Wan can't help but grin at the friendly banter of the two masters.

"So how do you know him?"

"Master Tahl and I were on a mission together on Apri VI; a simple observation and evaluation of their major elections. Merona Ralote was one of the officials assigned to liaise with us as representatives of the Republic. Unfortunately, Ralote seemed far more interested in _liaising_ with Master Tahl," Qui-Gon finishes with an odd lopsided grin. Tahl smiles back at the master, but then she notices the furrow between the boy's brow.

"Oh, you've got a sweet one here, Qui," she says with a wink to the master, then she turns to the apprentice. "What your master means is that Ralote was more interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me rather than attend to his duties for the mission."

"Oh," Obi-Wan mumbles, a blush rising brightly in his coppery cheeks. Qui-Gon puts a hand on the boy's shoulder and smiles.

"The long and the short of it, my Padawan, is that Ralote's numerous advances and entreaties were beginning to wear on Master Tahl's patience."

"My patience?" Tahl repeats indignantly. "By the time we reached the official closing banquet you looked ready to throttle him!"

Obi-Wan looks to his master with slack-jawed wonder. Qui-Gon can't help but laugh at his apprentice's unadulterated shock.

"Yes, my very young apprentice, even my Jedi serenity has its limits," he chuckles. "But then again, I wasn't the one who dumped the contents of a large bowl of muja fruit punch on him either."

Now it is the honey-skinned master who receives a stare of patent disbelief from the wide-eyed teen.

"Master Tahl, you didn't?"

"Of course not," she replies, her hand clutched to her chest in mock affront. "It was not my fault that the table that held said punch clearly had some latent structure defect that just happened to make itself known while Merona Relote was in some proximity to it," she says and at that all three Jedi burst into riotous laughter.

Much of the lastmeal passed in a similar combination of good food and pleasant conversation, but as the night drew on and adult bellies began to reach their fill Qui-Gon noticed that his apprentice's plate was uncharacteristically not scraped bare or, in the alternative, heaped with seconds or thirds. The master frowns.

"Padawan, I noticed you have not finished your food. Is everything alright?" he asks, his concern showing plainly in his eyes. The boy gives the master a smile that does not reach his eyes.

"I'm fine, Master. I guess I'm just full," the teen replies. Tahl lets out an exaggerated gasp.

"A teenage boy... full? We should alert the Council!" she teases, but her jest is only met with weak laughter. The old master silently studies his apprentice noting with a certain unease that the boy's hands had been quietly folded in his lap for sometime.

"Master, I'm actually quite tired. Would it be alright if I retire for the evening?"

"Of course, Padawan," Qui-Gon answers, his careful gaze scrutinizing the boy's every movement. Obi-Wan turns to their guest.

"Master Tahl, thank you for a lovely lastmeal and," he says, then he pauses for a moment, "thank you for your help in searching for me."

"I'm glad you enjoyed the food, Obi-Wan, because I know I enjoyed the company," Tahl smiles. She pauses as she leans in slightly, her gold green eyes locked on his blue-gray ones. "And as for the rest... I could do no less for someone whom I love so much," she says, then she spares a look at Qui-Gon before returning her gaze to the boy. "Two someones. I only wish..." she stops, her words trailing off. Obi-Wan nods.

"I know," he answers politely. He stands carefully and quickly, his hands always positioned slightly out of view. "Masters," he intones with a quick bow. Qui-Gon nods and watches as his apprentice beats a hasty retreat to his room closing the door behind him.

Dishes put away, for just over an hour the two masters continue their post meal banter, catching up on galactic politics and Temple gossip interspersed with a fair share of friendly teasing, but as enjoyable as Qui-Gon finds the conversation he can only participate with a distracted interest. His thoughts are somewhere else entirely—namely, the small room approximately ten meters from his seat.

Ever since his apprentice retired to his room, the master had kept a close eye, actively monitoring the bond. First he had sensed vague feelings of embarrassment and frustration. In time, those feelings had given way to a low grade anger. It was only when the master felt the stinging wave of despair and shame that he found himself struggling to remain in his chair instead of charging into the room to sweep the boy up in a comforting embrace. Finally, however, the boy's mind calmed and the intense emotions began to ebb, sliding heavily down into a placid muteness. The master allows himself a small smile.

"Well, it's about time."

"Hmm?"

"Whatever you were waiting for finally happened," Tahl stated assuredly. The master nods.

"He's finally asleep," he says as he moves to the small kitchen and prepares some tea. Tahl moves to the worn couch of the common room and stretches out; her head on an armrest, her feet crossed at the ankles, her hands resting comfortably across her stomach.

"Good, now maybe you can tell me what supernatural Sith-spawned superweapon was used to separate your padawan, a growing teenage boy with an appropriately voracious appetite, from second helpings or, Force help us, dessert?" she asks as she watches the tall master return to the common room with two steaming mugs of tea. He hands one to Tahl before taking a seat at the far end of the couch, lifting her legs so he could sit down then laying them down across his lap.

"He was experiencing muscle tremors in one or both of his hands. He did not wish you to see," he answers between sips of his tea. Tahl gives him an exaggerated sigh.

"What did I do to warrant befriending the two most prideful, bantha-headed Jedi in the Order?"

"I am not prideful," Qui-Gon answers with a snort. Tahl lifts an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Really," he answers stiffly. Tahl shoots up from her reclined position swinging her legs off his lap in the process.

"Qui-Gon Jinn you are the _most_ prideful Jedi I have ever known," she begins. Qui-Gon opens his mouth to object, but Tahl continues before he has a chance. "For eight years, _eight years_ you buried your feelings, your grief and hurt, from Xanatos's betrayal. You wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't tell anyone what you were really feeling."

"That was different."

"Emotionally perhaps, but you and your padawan both employ the same motive: you don't want to show any weakness lest you disturb your image as the perfect master, the perfect padawan."

"There is no such thing as a perfect master or padawan."

"I know that. The question is do you? And does your padawan?" she retorts. Suddenly, her face softens as she slides down the couch to sit beside the old master. She takes his large hands in her smaller ones. "He looks to you, Qui, for how to handle what is happening to him, what _has_ happened to him, not just to your example, but for your approval. You can't just be there to help him. You're going to have to show him it's okay to _need_ help and how to ask for it."

"I know," Qui-Gon says with a heavy sigh. He removes one hand from her grasp and places the now free arm around her shoulders pulling her in close to him. The two sit quietly for several moments as he collects his thoughts and steadies his own ragged emotions.

"Tahl?"

"Hmm?"

"Something... happened today in the Healer's Ward. Something I don't understand... something that frightens me," he finishes, his deep baritone almost a whisper.

"What is it, Qui? What happened?"

"Mace came to see him and Obi-Wan... was terrified of him, so much so that he ripped out his IV trying to get away from him and then here in our quarters when I tried to talk to him about it he said that he couldn't trust anyone on the Council."

"But... why? Did he tell you why?"

"When I asked him, he didn't even remember saying it."

Much time passes before either master is capable of speaking. So much was already said in those last few words that further speech seemed reckless, even dangerous. Tahl continued to lie against Qui-Gon's side his arm draped over her shoulder both masters staring out into nothing as thoughts and feelings roam unbound, unmarshaled in their heads. Finally, one proves brave, or desperate enough, to break the silence.

"He's going to have to talk about what Xanatos did. I mean, he would have had to eventually, but now... I don't think we can afford to wait."

"I know," Qui-Gon sighs. "We are going to meet with a soul healer tomorrow. Perhaps then..." he says, unable or unwilling to verbalize the remaining thought. Tahl nods quietly leaning snuggly against his strong arm, gracing his palm with a tiny kiss before sitting up and turning to face him.

"Whatever you two need..."

"Thank you," he replies. Tahl stares into those warm midnight eyes of the tall master. She cups his cheek and smiles.

"Go to bed," she orders, but her tone is warm and gentle. Qui-Gon regards her with a wry grin.

"Yes, Master."

* * *

_...not safe in the Temple not safe anywhere no one to protect you vulnerable open unwanted they knew they knew they didn't care sent you away before sent you away again with him allowed it condoned it can't trust won't trust not safe should have felt the darkness the darkness is coming the darkness that already came is coming again looking for him it wants to bring him back take him away again searching unstopped unchecked unbound allowed again he can sense it so they all must sense it its coming closer they have to know closer must know must not care must not want closer its back he's back he's back he's here oh gods no no no no no no no..._

"No!" he screams and faster than conscious thought he is out of his bed and through his door. Obi-Wan steps into the common room, his lightsaber in hand and activated. The door to his master's room opens only a moment later. He too has his lightsaber, but it remains unlit as the tall man's eyes search the room for danger before finally settling on the apprentice frozen, ready in a battle stance.

"Padawan?"

"He's here. He's in the Temple. I felt him."

"You think Xanatos has returned to the Temple?" the master asks as he slowly approaches his apprentice, an apprentice who has yet to deactivate his saber.

"He is here. I felt him, Master," Obi-Wan states emphatically. Rather than argue, Qui-Gon closes his eyes and reaches out into the Force. He extends himself from their quarters through the hallways and corridors of the Temple complex searching for that oh-so-familiar Force signature of his once student. Finding nothing, he opens his eyes.

"Padawan, I don't sense,"

"I _know_ what I felt, Master!" the boy yells. Despite his hesitation to the still active weapon, the master steps close and kneels before his apprentice.

"Obi-Wan, is it possible you were dreaming? That you only dreamed you felt his presence?"

"No..." the teen answers, but his voice is soft, his conviction ebbing away rapidly with each ticking second spent under the concerned gaze of his master. Qui-Gon carefully covers the boy's hand with his own deactivating his lightsaber in the process.

"Reach out with your senses. What do you feel now?" his master asks. Obi-Wan closes his eyes and stretches out his awareness just as his master had done only moments ago. After a few moments, he reopens his eyes.

"I-I don't feel him..." he answers quietly, a slight tremor in his voice. He allows his master to lower his saber hand.

"It was only a nightmare, Obi-Wan. It's alright," the master states as he draws the small body of his charge into his own holding him in a tight embrace. The two Jedi remain in the comfort of each other's arms for a few seconds before embarrassment makes the boy pull away. His master says nothing about the teenager's blush to the show of affection, instead he stands and leads the padawan to the couch and seats him. The master then goes to the kitchenette. When returns it is with a pair of mugs. He hands the padawan a steaming cup and waits for him to take a few sips before speaking.

"Padawan?"

"Yes, Master?"

"I think it's time we talked about what happened to you," his master says gently. Obi-Wan sighs and is silent for several minutes, content to stare into the dark waters of his cup while he collects the equally dark memories in his head.

"Yes, Master," he replies then he takes a deep breath. "I had just giving up on meditating and was in my room when I heard the outer door open. At first, I thought you had return, but then I felt it... a familiar yet unfamiliar Force presence... I opened my door to see who it was and he was standing here, right in front of me..."


	12. Painstaking Efforts

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan, Padawan Eudo Orn and Enredar Shirperna.

**A/N:** Here's chapter twelve. (I kneel down and place my head on the floor) Please forgive me, my readers. It has been two weeks since I last posted. It was cruel of me to leave you with that minor cliffhanger. I humbly beg your forgiveness and offer you this new chapter with gratuitous evil Xanatos and Obi torture for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

**A/N 2:** Also, this is my first attempt at writing Obi torture or any real fight scenes so let me know how I did please. It's really the best way for me to get better!

**Thanks:**

Godiva9: Yeah, this story will not be an easy one for our two favorite Jedi for sometime still, but they always make it through. That's why we love them!

Julzdagger88: Hope you didn't stay up all this time! Yeah, sorry about that cliffhanger. I didn't intended for you to suffer quite this long.

ErinKenobi2893: Oh yes, there are so many ways to sway one's victim. Words are one, pain is another, and our dear Xanatos fully intends to use both. The question is, what is the goal of his manipulation?

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 12– Painstaking Efforts**

Day15

When Obi-Wan awoke his first clear sensation was pain. It wasn't an active pain, but instead the echo of it that seemed to reverberate through his very skin, his muscles tight with the dull ache of it, his bones still chilled with past agonies. He didn't dare open his eyes or even move. Instead, the young Jedi was content to lie in his current stillness and quiet pain hoping fervently that he would be left undisturbed. It was not meant to be.

"Every padawan tries it and every padawan fails at it," a familiar and thoroughly unpleasant and cultured voice crooned. "I know you're awake, little padawan."

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan pushed himself up into a seated position; his muscles fairly screaming in protest. He stifled a grimace as he lifted his gaze to meet his captor's stare with his own glare of unwavering determination and a degree of contempt. Xanatos frowned.

"Tsk tsk. Such anger in you, little padawan. That's not very Jedi like."

Obi-Wan's expression remained the same, but internally he balked. Xanatos was right, he wasn't behaving as a Jedi and in doing so he was dishonoring both himself and his master and that was something he would not allow. Obi-Wan took a deep breath. He may have been unable to release his emotions into the Force, but he could at least push them to the side, tuck them far away to be dealt with at some later time. Once he had achieved some semblance of calm serenity he returned his attention to his jailor who greeted him with a smile.

"I'm impressed, little padawan, very impressed. You have learned your lessons well, but I wonder, will it be enough?"

"Enough for what?"

"Enough to endure the new lessons I will teach you."

"There is nothing you can teach me," Obi-Wan intoned. Suddenly, Xanatos surged right up to the thin barrier of the ray shield, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk that sent chills down Obi-Wan's spine.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, little padawan. You are going to learn so very, very much," Xanatos hissed, then he tapped a button on the comm. link he wore on his left wrist. "And your first lesson will start right now."

Just as he finished his statement, Obi-Wan watched as he pulled out the small remote he had shown him earlier. The young Jedi took a breath and, knowing what was to come, tried to brace himself against the impending onslaught.

It was all in vain.

Neither knowledge nor memory could prepare him for the pain that sought him, touched him, claimed him for its own. Molten rivulets of searing agony raced through every line of his body. Conscious thought was impossible. The comforts of reason and discipline achingly out of reach as his body writhed and spasmed wildly on the floor. Finally, the torturous stimulus ceased leaving the apprentice in a ball, curled in on himself an unconscious moan escaping his lips as his body endured the still suffering trembles across his overactive nerves. Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed though through foggy thoughts he heard the ray shield lower and felt himself hauled to his feet and dragged unceremoniously down several corridors by large, rough hands. His eyes were still squeezed tight when he felt his arms pulled up over his head, his wrists placed in restraints. His ankles were then similarly shackled to the floor leaving his small frame pulled taut between the opposing fetters, his weight balanced precariously over the balls of his feet and the pull of his shoulders. He even stubbornly kept his eyes shut when he felt the cold sweep of metal kiss dangerously close to his skin as his Jedi robes were carefully rent from his hanging form, stripping him down to his small clothes. Then suddenly, the metal and the large hands were gone. Heavy footsteps retreated followed by an opening and closing door. Lighter footfalls approached him now stopping in front of him. A single fingertip skimmed across the flesh between his jaw and collar bone. Instinctively, Obi-Wan's body tensed as he flinched away from the feather-like stroke. The finger pulled away with a throaty chuckle.

"Oh, mine is not the hand you should fear, little padawan." A pause. "Open your eyes, little padawan. There is someone I'd like you to meet."

Finally, slowly, Obi-Wan forced his eyes open. He gazed lazily about the room, his eyes first lighting on Xanatos's cruel figure, clad in black from head to toe. Then his focus shifted to the slightly smaller figure beside him. He was Devoronian, the red hue of his skin and dual, slightly curved horns a dead giveaway. He, too, was draped all in black, but his attire was faded, well-worn, and of a far less affluent variety than Xanatos's garb. The impish alien wore a jumpsuit with a thin belt similar to those of engineers or mechanics, but his ebon attire displayed no logos or emblems of his employer or his trade revealing only that he was a worker or craftsman of some sort and yet... Obi-Wan noted that his uniform was free from the typical dirt or grime that oft accompanied such professions.

"Little padawan, meet Enredar Shirperna."

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands," Obi-Wan answered dryly. Xanatos laughed haughtily.

"You see! What did I tell you? The boy has impeccable manners. Impeccable," Xanatos crooned. The Devoronian said nothing, but continued to leer at Obi-Wan's nearly naked form in a way that made the Jedi's skin crawl. Xanatos turned to his horned companion, his expression serious.

"You know what I want?" he asked to which the other answered with a nod. "Good. I want it precisely as I diagramed, no more, no less. I want this to be prefect," he finished as he cupped Obi-Wan's chin in his hand. He held him there for a moment before stepping back and taking a seat several feet away. Xanatos relaxed into the chair, leaning back casually, legs crossed, hands resting gracefully on his thighs. Shirperna slowly walked around Obi-Wan his rough fingers tracing uncomfortable lines across his exposed skin. Finally, he came to a stop in front of the boy. He reached to his waist and began to remove the thin belt around his jumpsuit. It was only then that Obi-Wan realized that the thin flexible cording was no belt at all. In the distance he could hear Xanatos laughing at his sudden, yet belated understanding.

"Yes, little padawan," he said coolly, "your eyes do not deceive you."

Indeed, Obi-Wan's eyes were still fixed on the former belt now turned electro-whip. Shirperna stepped back away from the small Jedi. He thumbed a small button and the whip flared to life with a sharp hum. The Devoronian made a few test strikes snapping the whip against the open air with a flick and flourish of his wrist. It was all Obi-Wan could do to suppress the urge to flinch at each electric crack of the nimble instrument.

"Fear not, little padawan. Enredar is an absolute master at what he does, a true artist of the flesh. I could offer nothing less than the best for our master," Xanatos said. He gave a slight nod to Shirperna and the imp's smile grew wider as his eyes narrowed in concentration. A moment of quiet and then a loud hiss-snap cut through the air and a strip of fire blazed to life on Obi-Wan's right thigh. His mind had just barely finished processing the pain and damage to his body when an identical swathe of agony sliced across his left thigh pulling a hiss out of him.

And so it went for a time unknown to Obi-Wan though it felt like forever. A pause then a hiss-snap followed by a bright new line of searing pain and a choked whimper. Always the same and seemingly never-ending the macabre master abused the pale skin of his legs and arms as Xanatos prattled on in the background about art, beauty, and the aesthetics of suffering. Eventually, the moment of silence beginning each concatenation endured uninterrupted by another flesh ripping strike. Obi-Wan tried to steady his breathing and slow his racing heart, but the fire burning across his limbs made the endeavor supremely difficult. He had finally managed some degree of control when Xanatos approached him. The ex-Jedi circled the boy slowly as if he were inspecting some priceless piece of art for hidden defects—perhaps he was. Finally, the inspection stopped and he stood before the pained apprentice with a toothy grin.

"Simply beautiful, Enredar," Xanatos exhaled. "Your reputation is well deserved... Truly marvelous," he whispered in obvious awe. If Obi-Wan were not concentrating so hard on diffusing the pain in his extremities he probably would have been utterly disgusted by his jailor's morbid enchantment with the results of his torture. As it was, the Jedi settled for a determined glare reflecting his calm resolve despite the trembling that had begun to take over his body. Obi-Wan's show of will only served to delight Xanatos further as his smile widened into a disconcerting sneer.

"Easy, little padawan," Xanatos said then he leaned in close to whisper in Obi-Wan's ear. "We are just getting started."

* * *

Day 18

Obi-Wan's arms and legs still hurt, though the initial blazing burning had receded to a continuously throbbing, heated ache. Even the rough hands of the guards, guards he had discovered were Gamorrean now that he had seen them with his eyes open, are careful around his numerous lash wounds lest they disturb the delicate scaring beginning to form and upset their master. A mistake that usually carried swift and fatal consequences.

In the days since his flaying, Obi-Wan had been visited in his cell several times by his captor. In those visits, Xanatos would clean his wounds and apply a salve to prevent infection. During his ministrations, his touch was delicate almost tender, his words soothing and oddly comforting considering it was he that had wounded Obi-Wan in the first place. This "tender" Xanatos only served to confuse Obi-Wan more, but the apprentice found himself too weak to sufficiently care. He had been provided food and water sparingly; enough to prevent his death or illness, but not his infirmity. Xanatos wanted him weakened, not dead, starved not starving, beaten not yet broken.

Obi-Wan suspected that would come later.

Even now the apprentice felt himself one step closer to that inevitability as he sat bound to some kind of odd chair—his chest supported by a padded bench, his hands bound in front of him, his ankles secured on either side of the seat, his back open and exposed. Xanatos sat behind him, his hands constantly moving across the wide expanse of skin, but there was nothing tender or comforting in his touch now. Instead of soothing wounds he was inflicting them, plunging the edge of a vibroknife into his flesh and carving into his back like an engraver carving into metal. Each stroke was excruciating requiring all of Obi-Wan's control not to cry out. Instead, he bit fiercely into his lip, blood running freely down his chin as he swallowed yet another scream.

But worse than the pain was the voice talking over his shoulder.

Xanatos was talking again, speaking to Obi-Wan his voice calm and even as if he were engaged in casual conversation and not a brutal torture session. He spoke with every stroke, but he only recited the Code.

Blinding, burning pain...

"There is no emotion, there is peace."

Flesh ripping, tearing...

"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."

Skin torn, jagged, and bloodied...

"There is no passion, there is serenity."

Another stab. Another swallowed scream...

"There is no chaos, there is harmony."

Salty clear streaks mirror coppery crimson ones...

"There is no death, there is the Force."

Darkness. Numbness. A welcoming oblivion...

* * *

Day 19

"You're angry with me."

"Jedi don't feel anger."

"Ah, but you do, little padawan," Xanatos replied as he finished tending to Obi-Wan's freshest wounds. He rocked back on his heels, studied the supine apprentice for a moment and then stood high above him.

"I have an offer for you, little padawan. A wager if you will," Xanatos said then he paused waiting for a reply. Obi-Wan continued to lie unmoving on his stomach unwilling and uninterested in turning his body or craning his neck to face his abductor.

"I decline," the apprentice answered, his voice slightly muffled by his position.

"I think you will reconsider once you hear it," Xanatos continued completely undiscouraged by his prisoner's lack of enthusiasm. "A duel is what I propose. A very proper, very Jedi lightsaber duel."

"Not interested."

"Not even for your freedom?" Xanatos asked. His words were a lure, a trap and Obi-Wan knew it, but he also knew it was something he couldn't ignore. Obi-Wan slowly pushed himself off the floor, the lacerations on his back igniting with every move. He managed to place himself into a meditation posture, his hands resting on his thighs, his expression reflected a calm he certainly didn't possess.

"What must I do?" Obi-Wan intoned as he looked up at Xanatos.

"Defeat me," the ex-Jedi replied. Obi-Wan snorted.

"Torture and starved... hardly seems like a fair fight," he answered. Xanatos cocked his head to the side in thought.

"Three days."

"What?"

"Three days. I will give you three days to recover your strength. In that time I will still have your wounds tended to and I will see that you are provided with adequate food, water, and rest. Then we will duel."

"You've been torturing me for over a week. Three days is not enough time to recover."

"Take it or leave it, little padawan," Xanatos retorted as he crossed his arms over his chest. Obi-Wan stared into those hard cobalt eyes searching for... something, but whatever it was he sought he did not find it.

"If I win?"

"You are free to leave."

"And if I lose?"

"You will remain as my guest a little longer and... I get to sign my work."

That last statement made Obi-Wan's blood run cold, but he kept his features neutral, his cleft chin held high.

"I accept."

* * *

Day 22

Surprisingly true to his word, Xanatos left Obi-Wan unmolested for the entire three days of his hurried convalescence. In addition to the welcomed lack of abuse and torture, the apprentice had been supplied with food and water both of necessary quantity and quality to be restorative. His wounds still pained him, however, but little could be done about that save an extended immersion in a bacta tank or falling into a deep healing trance neither of which were offered him.

In the course of the seventy-two hour recovery period, Obi-Wan had indeed regained much of his strength. It was his center that eluded him and with his access to the Force still blocked he found his confidence faltering with the approaching hour. His resolve, however, never wavered.

He would duel Xanatos and he would win.

He had to.

* * *

Day 23

He was ready when they came for him. He considered attacking them, using his newly returned strength to overpower them. Without the Force or his lightsaber taking on two Gamorreans in his current state would be difficult, but not impossible. What concerned him was what would come after. He didn't know where he was, (except that he was still on Coruscant since he could "hear" his master's voice through the bond) where an exit would be or how many security features or personnel he would have to bypass or get through to escape. Without access to the Force there were just far too many "what-ifs" to comfortably embrace or counter, so the idea of an aggressive assault was abandoned shortly after it was conceived. Instead, the apprentice allowed himself to be bound and herded down several long corridors to a large oval shaped room with a hard paneled floor and a high ceiling. His "escorts" removed his ankle and wrist restraints before they stepped back and took flanking positions by the closed door. On the wall opposite the Jedi's position a door opened and through it walked a thoroughly annoying and familiar figure with a thoroughly pretentious and familiar strut. He walked to the center of the room and stood there. After only a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan joined him in the center of the room, but remained a short distance away from him. Xanatos leered at him amusingly. He reached down to his belt and pulled off a saber.

"Are you ready, little padawan?" Xanatos asked as he handed Obi-Wan his own lightsaber. The apprentice took the weapon in his hands and held it as reverently as he had the day he made it. A lightsaber was an extension of the Jedi himself. To be without his for so long was nearly as painful as being without the Force. The Force! Obi-Wan suddenly remembered the collar around his neck. In this duel he would be made to fight without any connection to the Force against a near-Knight who would still have that connection. The situation was getting farther and farther from ideal.

"No," Obi-Wan answered steadily. "There is another matter."

"Oh?" Xanatos inquired almost politely. Obi-Wan reached up and tugged at his collar.

"If this is to be a fair fight, you have to take this thing off me," he said flatly. His jailor studied him for a moment, as if deciding on what to do, but then he reached behind him and unclipped something from his belt.

"A fair fight you shall have, but I'm not so foolish as to remove my primary means of control over you," he replied as he revealed an identical collar hanging over two perfectly manicured fingers. He then reached up and placed the collar around his own neck, the band sealing with a click. A flash of discomfort flew across his expression, but it was gone and quickly as it had come.

"Force deprivation while not pleasant can be easily endured, if one is strong enough," he said. Obi-Wan had to admit to himself he was a little disappointed. He had briefly hoped that Xanatos would indeed remove his collar increasing the odds that he could not only win this match, but if he should fail that he might still be able to effect an escape. That hope was now out the window, the frame and glass shattered with the click of the other Force collar. Xanatos stepped back two paces and brought his saber up and swiftly back down again in a traditional match salute. Obi-Wan answered with a mirrored salute and the bout was on.

Immediately the room erupted into flashes of light, blue on crimson, the colored columns flashing and whirling relentlessly in a beautiful yet deadly dance. This was no practice round; both sabers were powered to full. A touch would be extremely painful. A direct hit would be extremely mortal. Obi-Wan drew on all of his training, limited as it was by his young age, and launched into a full scale assault relying on his proficiency in Shii-Cho while augmenting his best moves from the Ataru style his master had already taught him. His flips were not as high or as graceful as usual since he was unable to enhance the aerials with the Force, but he was still a more than fair gymnast. In saber class, Obi-Wan was a star pupil, eager to learn, quick to catch-on, and completely involved in the moment when he was engaged, but still he found he was no match for the nearly fully trained knight that Xanatos was. Obi-Wan would thrust, lunge, slash, and sweep while Xanatos calmly parried and deflected his strikes as if he were some bothersome insect buzzing about him on a summer's day. All too quickly, Obi-Wan found himself tiring out, his moves becoming sloppy, his body struggling to obey his mind's commands. Then without warning, Xanatos sprang forward with a brutally aggressive assault advancing on the young Jedi so fast Obi-Wan had no choice but to retreat several steps as he desperately tried to defend himself against the blurring crimson onslaught. Xanatos lunged and, with a flick of his wrist, wormed through his opponent's defenses and sent his saber flying with a lightening fast disarming maneuver. Weaponless, Obi-Wan continued to back up. He glanced over to where his lightsaber had fallen, but without the Force he had no way to retrieve it. Xanatos reached out with a long leg and swept him off his feet. Obi-Wan hit the ground on his back with a loud whomf! as all the air rushed out of his lungs. Xanatos stepped over him, placing a booted foot on his abdomen and the tip of his saber at his neck. He reached back and removed the collar from his own neck clipping it back on to his belt before looking down at his felled opponent.

"I yield," Obi-Wan growled angrily. He was as angry at himself as he was at Xanatos. He had had a chance for freedom and now that chance was gone crushed under the weight of a shiny ebon boot.

"I accept, little padawan," Xanatos smiled, "but now it is time to collect on our wager."

Without any warning, Xanatos drew the tip of his saber down onto Obi-Wan's exposed chest. He pulled the blade lightly across his skin burning the tender flesh below. Obi-Wan screamed. He couldn't help it. He would have been twitching and writhing on the floor were not Xanatos holding him still with the Force. Xanatos seemed to drag his blade down Obi-Wan's skin forever. The pain was so intense, so blinding that the boy couldn't think, couldn't form the words to even beg the man to stop. Instead, he lay there, pinned, sobbing, and helpless; unable to escape the pain physically or mentally. By the time Xanatos disengaged his saber, Obi-Wan was blessedly unconscious.


	13. The Loss

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan, Padawan Eudo Orn and Enredar Shirperna.

**A/N:** Here's chapter thirteen and right on schedule. Once again, I'm sorry for the previous delay, but it appears we are right back on schedule. I have to admit though I am a little saddened by the lack of reviews for the last update. I hope that doesn't mean you're no longer enjoying the story. Well, at any rate, here is the next installment. I hope you like it.

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 13– The Loss**

Day 29

Tired. Obi-Wan had never so tired in his life. Tired. Weary. Exhausted. Utterly spent. Each word fell unbelievably short when trying to describe the bone deep fatigue of the young apprentice. The little strength he had regained a week ago had long since departed; the feeling of well-rested and full-bellied "able-ness" a distant memory. It had been days since he had been offered food or water. His stomach ached terribly all the time constantly churning and folding in on itself. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth impossibly filling the dry cavern making swallowing unreasonably difficult.

Then there was the saber burn on his chest.

Nothing he had ever experienced had hurt quite like that before. Generally, injuries caused by lightsaber were far less agonizing, even gentle when compared to other popular weaponry. With a lightsaber, strikes were fast, clean, and instantly cauterized resulting in bloodlessness and swiftly severed nerves, but Obi-Wan had fallen to no strike. He had been subjected to a slow burn as his tormentor carefully directed the tip of his saber slowly across his skin causing the flesh beneath to curdle, melt, and blacken in its wake. Even now the broken circle wound crusted and oozed, but it wasn't nearly as painful as it had been. Obi-Wan wondered grimly if it were possible that his body was also tired of feeling pain and so had simply abandoned the effort and settled for a dull, muted ache if not quite numbness. It didn't matter. He would take what escape he could get so it was only natural when Obi-Wan allowed himself to slide back into the familiar darkness of semi-consciousness and fitful, unrestful sleep.

* * *

Day 34

Obi-Wan missed his bed. He missed the slightly starchy quality of freshly laundered sheets and the fresh and light scent of detergent still clinging to his pillow casings. He missed the pungent and spicy smell of tea that drifted into his room filtering through his muzzy senses as he pushed toward early morning wakefulness. But more than anything he missed his master. More even than he missed the Force, Obi-Wan longed for the calm, steady, and bright presence in his mind; the presence that kept him grounded, anchored amidst the chaos. He would do nearly anything, give nearly anything to have that feeling again.

Becoming Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice had not been an easy process. Indeed, it had hurt him deeply to have his only hope, to have the master he _knew_ he was destined to have turn away from him not once, but three times before accepting him and even then, Obi-Wan soon realized, it was only a partial acceptance. He knew his master had let him into his home and into his life, but not into his heart. Understanding that had hurt too, but Obi-Wan decided it was a hurt he could learn to live with. Oh, but what he would give to be let in, to be with his master now, held tightly in his arms and loved strongly and uncompromisingly. It was a hopeless and futile wish, but he wished it all the same. That want, that deep longing was all he could think about as he lay curled up in a ball in his tiny, dark cell.

He had had many "visitors" over the past few days. Twice someone had shown up with a ration bar and a bottle of tepid water, but there were many more times when his "visitors" came with something else entirely. Sometimes they came with stun sticks or with that Sith forsaken remote. Sometimes they only brought their bare hands, but whatever their choice of instrument the intention was the same: to torture or beat him until he fell unconscious or was too insensate to scream. During those times, Obi-Wan would try to remain calm, would try to relax his body so that the pain washed over and through him as he was taught to do as an initiate, but he had had the Force then; the Force, the crèche masters, his own master, something or someone to help him through, but not now. Now he was alone. Alone in his head. Alone in his suffering. Alone in the world.

Alone.

By the end, Obi-Wan was nearly always left sobbing hysterically, his throat raw from the duraglass shattering screams they mercilessly wretched from his beleaguered frame.

Obi-Wan pulled his knees closer to his chest wrapping himself into an impossibly tighter ball. Yes, he wanted his master. He _needed_ his master, but his master was not coming. He knew that, so he did the only thing he could. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and buried himself deep within his own misery.

* * *

Day 46

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? Obi-Wan did not know, for he had lost all sense of time long ago. The contemplation of time, the apprentice found, was an overly taxing mental concept and he needed what little reserves he had left to... To do what? Survive? Endure? That took no energy at all. To do that all he had to do was continue to exist, to refuse to expire and even that was less a matter of his prerogative than his jailor's. Until Xanatos decided otherwise, Obi-Wan would survive. He would be forced to endure. Obi-Wan wanted to believe that he endured because he was a Jedi, but a small insistent voice in his head would only cruelly remind him that, in the end, he endured because he really didn't have a choice.

* * *

Day 51

Another blazing wave of pain rocked through Obi-Wan's body causing him to convulse wildly in the restraints that held him nearly dangling in the air. His shoulders ached, dangerously close to being pulled completely out of socket as Xanatos finally released a button on his remote and Obi-Wan was allowed a moment to catch his breath.

"You must have been a truly awful initiate, little padawan, for the Jedi High Council to have gone to such lengths to get rid of you," Xanatos stated calmly. He leaned in close to the apprentice's sweat covered and trembling body. "Yes, even now, I bet you're still willing to defend them, willing to trust them. They abandoned you, little padawan. They left you... to me," he whispered.

"No," Obi-Wan rasped, his voice weak, but his tone unquestionably defiant.

"Yes, little padawan," Xanatos sneered as he stepped away again. "Do you really still think it possible that I could have walked into the Temple undetected?" Xanatos asked. When he received no answer he pushed the button and immediately Obi-Wan's body drew taut as stretched wire, bolts of pure agony arcing across every nerve in his body. Then just as suddenly as the pain had emerged, it ceased.

"Temple security didn't see me?"

Another round of pain.

"The Council didn't feel me?"

More pain.

"_Master Yoda_ didn't sense me? How is that possible, little padawan? How? What is the only answer? Answer me!" Xanatos yelled as he pushed the button again and again the boy's small figure twitched and writhed, bucking fruitlessly in the air in a futile, but instinct driven attempt to escape the painful stimulus. Xanatos released the button.

"How, little padawan? What is the only way I could have gotten in?"

"They... They... let..."

"Who, little padawan? Say it. Say the name. Say what you know to be true."

"T-The Council... let... y-you in..." Obi-Wan stammered between gasping breaths and full body tremors. Xanatos cupped his chin in a gloved hand.

"And why would the Council do that, little padawan? Why would they give you up to me?"

Obi-Wan felt something deep inside him shudder and break as a voice he did not recognize issued forth from his own mouth.

"Because... they don't want... me."

It was not long after that "lesson" with Xanatos that Obi-Wan was brought back to his cell. The guards had dropped his small body on the floor in the middle of the tiny space and it was there he continued to lay, ragdoll limp and unmoving. His whole body still ached, his nose still stuffy from crying, his voice still hoarse from screaming. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself unconscious, but his pain filled body was stubbornly determined to keep him awake. Obi-Wan felt himself sinking down, deep inside himself, moving closer to a place of constant darkness, yet caring less and less about it when suddenly a warmth filled him, its light sending the encroaching shadows into the corners of his mind once again. The presence was so missed, so longed for, so welcomed, Obi-Wan at first doubted it to be real that is until he heard that voice, that blessed baritone echoing through his mind.

_Padawan?_

_M-master?_

Obi-Wan's heart lifted as his master's presence washed over his tortured spirit like a soothing balm. He waited for an answer, but he was greeted with silence. Had he imagined it? Was he so desperate for his master's presence that his mind conjured up the reopened bond? Just as suddenly as hoped had flooded into his heart, Obi-Wan felt it sweep out with the all too familiar pangs of sorrow and fear taking its place.

_Master, are you there?_

_Yes, my Obi-Wan, I'm here._

That simple response brought forth a wave of relief unlike any he had ever felt. He was still in pain, still trapped and subject to Xanatos's cruel whims, but he had his master with him, for however briefly he had him, right now and for once, _now_ was all that seemed to matter.

But the joy caused by his master's presence soon became over shadowed with a deep shame of how he had surely disappointed this man he revered so highly. He had cried, wailed, screamed, and had no sense of calm. Worse, he had been afraid, was _still_ afraid. A true Jedi had no fear, but he did. He did.

_I... I'm sorry, Master._

_For what, Padawan?_

_I haven't been a very good Jedi... I... I've been afraid..._

A long pause. So he _was_ disappointed in him. Not half a year his padawan and already he had shamed his master.

_I have been afraid too, my Padawan. You have done nothing wrong._

His master? Afraid?

_Really?_

_Yes, but when you feel afraid I need you to remember that I am always with you, Obi-Wan that the Force is always with you. You are *not* alone._

Though his mind doubted his master's words his spirit felt buoyed as wave after wave of warmth and, yes... love crashed through him over their training bond. The sheer intensity of it nearly caused him to weep uncontrollably like a crechling.

_Padawan, I need you to tell me where you are._

_I... I don't know, Master._

_Focus, Padawan! Tell me what you see, what you hear or smell! Can you sense anything? Tell me, no matter how small._

Obi-Wan's eyes desperately darted around his cell and the small room just beyond it. He closed his eyes and thought back to his trips down the corridors. Unfortunately, most of those times he was only semi-conscious, but still he tried to find something, anything he could tell his master that would help him find him, find him and rescue him from this Sith spawned hell. But there was nothing. No sounds. No smells. No windows or logos, or anything that would hint to his location.

_There's... nothing, Master... just cold darkness. He... keeps me in the dark until..._

_Until what, Padawan?_

Even in his mind, Obi-Wan could not stop his voice from cracking under the all too painful memories of what had passed and what he feared was yet to come.

_Until he wants to hurt me... T-that's a different room..._

His master must have sensed his panic because, once again, the bond was inundated with comfort and clam. Obi-Wan wasn't certain, but he almost thought he could feel his master's strength flowing into him, bolstering his own depleted reserves. Though the sensations pleased him, comforted and consoled him, it also released a desperate need in him, one so strong it shamed him, but he was unable to stop the plea that rushed from his lips.

_Master, please... I... I need you to find me... I need you._

_Listen Obi-Wan, I'm coming for you! Just hang on, Padawan! I *will* find you!_

He was coming for him and he would find him. Obi-Wan believed that and he took that belief and wrapped it tightly around himself like a cloak. The apprentice barely had a moment to bask in the temporary security before reality walked through the portal dressed, as always, in full black wearing a smile as dark as his clothing. There wasn't much time left.

_Master, I..._

"I think that's enough, don't you?" Xanatos smiled as he pushed a button on his remote and, just like that, his master's presence was ripped from his mind, shunted away, and blocked from his reach. Xanatos kneeled before the ray shield and quietly regarded his captive who still curled into a protective ball deep in a corner of his cell.

"I trust our master is well?"

"He is _not_ your master! You don't deserve him!" Obi-Wan snarled. Xanatos chuckled lightly.

"And you do?"

To this, Obi-Wan gave no answer. Truth be told he wasn't sure he did either, but he wasn't about to admit this fear to Xanatos, but something in the man's twisted smile and deadly glint in his eyes told Obi-Wan that he already knew.

"Want to prove it, little padawan?"

"How?"

"Another duel," he answered. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to object, but Xanatos held up his hand forestalling any protests. "I will give you more time to recover say... four standard weeks? Of course you will receive food and water and rest, as before, but otherwise, you will be left... undisturbed," he finishes with a wink.

Obi-Wan frowned. Four weeks? The suggested length of time both appealed to and appalled him. He did not want to remain in Xanatos's custody for nearly another month, but who knew when he would ever be free of him? Or worse, _if_ he would ever be free of him.

On the other hand, four weeks of humane treatment might actually be enough to make a difference in a fight with Xanatos. It wasn't a sure thing, but it was, at least, a true fighting chance and maybe, just maybe, it would give his master the time he needed to find him.

"If I win you will let me go?"

"Yes."

"And if I lose?" he asked, his hand absently drawn to his burn with a shudder.

"If you lose you stay here with me and you prove me right, that you are undeserving of Master Qui-Gon's attention as a padawan... maybe as one of his stray's, but not as his apprentice, not as his legacy," Xanatos replied coolly. "So, little padawan, what do you say?"

"I accept."

* * *

Day 72

He was rested. He was restored. He was ready.

Over the past few weeks, Obi-Wan had been an apprentice on a mission. At first, he had used the precious recovery time to simply rest and replenish his body's empty stores, but after the first week Obi-Wan devised his own training and exercise regimen which he meticulously followed for the remaining three weeks. He practiced saber drills he had learned as an initiate open-handed in the empty air imagining he could feel the weight of his saber hilt in his hand as he executed each strike. He practiced every kata he had ever learned both in his crèche classes as well as those few new ones his master had taught him. He practiced them daily, both in the "morning" and at "night" (times he based on the frequency and quality of his meals). He drilled over and over, engaging each repetition with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Throughout his "training" his body complained mightily. His myriad wounds and scars pulled and throbbed in their various stages of healing, but he ignored the pain, pushed past his discomfort and narrowed his focus to one singular goal: defeating Xanatos.

This was all that mattered.

So as he once again stood in the oval chamber staring at his opponent, matching collar around his neck, lightsaber hilt in hand, Obi-Wan cleared his mind of everything but the task at hand.

Xanatos winked at him and they were off.

In the blink of an eye two columns of concentrated colored energy sprang up from their respective hilts. Unlike before, Obi-Wan did not immediately launch into an aggressive assault preferring this time to let his opponent initiate the first clashes of the deadly dance.

Xanatos moved them about room leading with elegant Makashi strikes, lunges, and feints testing the padawan's defenses and footwork as though the two were engaged in a casual lesson in the Temple. Obi-Wan parried another strike and decided in it was time to make a push. He began a complicated series of strikes and aerial maneuvers from the Dancing Leaves kata his master had recently taught him. At first, his captor was taken by surprise, but he recovered all too quickly and easily countered the familiar routine. Obi-Wan had anticipated this and soon deviated from the routine changing from early kata steps like the Slender Flower to the most complex he knew, the Pounding Wave (a kata he and his master had only recently begun) only giving each kata a few strikes before switching to another. The strange mix made his attacks jerky and less fluid, but it also kept his opponent off balance so Obi-Wan pushed forward. Xanatos fell back several steps, but always seemed to eventually regain the ground again only to lose it later then regain it again. Obi-Wan could feel his arms beginning to tire, his breathing slightly more labored. It was only then, when he made a sweeping overhead slash that was deftly blocked by Xanatos that he realized all his efforts had been for naught. Xanatos wasn't off balance in the least. This whole time he had been toying with him and as this realization fell like a shadow over Obi-Wan's eyes Xanatos winked at him.

And in that moment, all was lost.

The momentary distraction was enough. Xanatos surged forward, catching Obi-Wan transitioning from one form to another. He stepped in close to Obi-Wan grabbing his right wrist and twisting the saber out his hand as he plunged an elbow hard against the boy's sternum. Obi-Wan grunted, his knees buckling as his lightsaber fell from his grasp. Xanatos, still holding his wrist yanked the apprentice toward him and then struck him hard with a back fist. He released him at the moment of impact so the strike sent the boy staggering backward and into the wall behind him, his head cracking against the hard surface with a sickening thud.

Obi-Wan felt himself slide down the wall to the floor. He stomach roiled, his head pounded, and his breath tore raggedly through his chest under the pain in his sternum. Through blurry vision he watched Xanatos approach and kneel in front of him. He reached out and Obi-Wan braced himself for another brutal strike, but Xanatos instead took hold of his padawan braid gently turning it over between to fingers. He then turned his gaze to Obi-Wan.

"No matter what you do, no matter how much time or training is spent on you, you will never be worthy of being Master Jinn's apprentice," he said almost sadly, then without warning his grip tightened around the small stubby braid and he pulled... hard. The swift yank ripped the braid from his skull by the root taking skin and blood with it. Obi-Wan screamed, though whether it was from the physical pain of the braid's removal or the emotional pain its removal represented, he didn't know; he would never know. All Obi-Wan knew at that moment was that Xanatos was right.

He wasn't worthy.

And he would never be.


	14. Living Expenses

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi and Padawan Lantis Mir are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan, Padawan Eudo Orn and Enredar Shirperna.

**A/N:** Here's chapter fourteen. I've done a lot of reorganizing and reworking some of the plot outlines for the next chapters. Hopefully it will turn out to be an improvement over the original plan. I think it is, but... Well, guess we will just have to see.

**Thanks:**

Capurnia: I'm so glad you're still reading! I was beginning to wonder if anyone still was...

Guest: Obi-Wan isn't so much reliving what happened as you are finally getting to see what happened during those days he was missing. One more chapter should complete the missing timeline and then it's back to the present and Obi-Wan's recovery. As for what other little land mines Xanatos may have planted in Obi-Wan's psyche... well, I guess you will just have to keep reading!

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 14– Living Expenses**

Day 73

Desolate. Inconsolable. Fantastically aggrieved. Bitter. Bottomless. Empty. Guilty. Shamed. Bound. Pained. Numb. Cold. Small. Irrelevent. Unworthy. Tainted. Trapped. Anguished. Despairing. Hurt.

Alone.

This is what it was to be Obi-Wan Kenobi, former padawan of Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn, now a nobody, a nothing.

No. Not just now. Always. Always nothing.

The Council had seen it.

His master had seen it.

Even his torturer had seen it.

Now, Obi-Wan saw it for himself. He knew. He had always known really, but he had hoped... No. No more of that. It was time to grow up and face the hard truths; truths that had been evident since before his banishment to Bandomeer, truths going back to his initiate days in the crèche. He had always been... different... angry... unbalanced... un-Jedi. Perhaps... perhaps Bruck was never a bully at all. Perhaps he was a teacher, of sorts, trying to show him the truth only Obi-Wan had been too blind to see it. If he had known, if he had just accepted the transfer to the Agri-Corps none of this suffering had to take place. Not his. Not his master's.

He could see now, the Council had tried to do him a kindness and he had thrown it back in their faces, coercing Master Jinn to make him a padawan out of the man's misplaced sense of honor. Now the Council was reprimanding him; showing him the consequences of his arrogance, his obstinance, his continued and unquestionable unworthiness.

That he was here was right. It was just. It was what he deserved.

"Um... Are you okay?"

Obi-Wan chose not to lift his head off his knees at the soft and unfamiliar voice. When he heard the sound of the ray shield drop and someone enter the cell, Obi-Wan only tightened his grip around his knees and tucked his head down even closer.

"I... I won't hurt you. I promise. I-I... just thought... I just came to see if you were okay. Are you? Okay I mean..."

The voice was close now and yet still very soft, even... gentle. Finally, Obi-Wan looked up, his sense of morbid curiosity winning out. What he saw surprised him. Kneeling a meter or so away from him was a rather scrawny Rattataki male. Bald with the snow colored skin, dark tattoos and white eyes characteristic of his species, the male had a haunted look though he didn't appear to much older than Obi-Wan himself. The Rattataki was dressed in a worn and ratty set of overalls whose threadbare condition shown in the numerous old patches and new holes that covered most of its surface.

"What do you want?" Obi-Wan finally asked as he looked at the boy in a dead stare. The teen seemed startled by his coldness and retreated back a half meter seeming to debate whether a full retreat was necessary. The boy stopped moving and squared his shoulders; his decision made.

"My name is Adaenkinith Ryl," he said extending an open palm to Obi-Wan; a gesture of good will. It was not returned.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay," the boy answered suddenly cool himself. "Perhaps this was a mistake," he said as he rose to his feet and backed out of the small cell. Once clear he reactivated the ray shield, but he didn't leave. Instead he stared at the slightly hooded blue-gray eyes in the cell.

"It isn't right what he's doing. I'm sorry," he said quickly, then he turned away and disappeared out the door.

For reasons he could not explain, Obi-Wan felt even more alone than before.

* * *

Day 75

Obi-Wan was resting uncomfortably in a corner of his cell when the dull hiss of the main door opening brought him to complete wakefulness. He watched warily as the slight figure entered the room. The figure walked up to the shield and stood, hesitating before turning and moving towards the door again.

"Wait."

The figure stopped mid-stride then turned around slowly.

"What?" the figure asked sharply, but quietly; irritation and concern clearly at odds in both his eyes and voice. Slowly, carefully, Obi-Wan climbed to his feet. He moved the short distance to the front of his cell. The boy on the other side also moved closer until the two were separated by only a meter and a ray shield.

"You said yesterday... you said that you wouldn't hurt me."

"I won't."

"Then... why are you here?" Obi-Wan asked. The boy dropped his gaze to the floor, a few quiet seconds passing before he answered.

"I don't like what he is doing to you."

"Can you help me get out of here? Maybe get a message to my master or get this collar off or," Obi-Wan started his hope bursting out of him before prudence and reason could tame it. The Rattataki never lifted his eyes from the floor.

"No," he replied shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

The weight of the past weeks crashed down on Obi-Wan all at once; his body literally crumpling under the pressure. The Rattataki sank to the ground with him though still separated by the shield.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated this time looking at Obi-Wan, but now it was Obi-Wan who stared away absently. The boy shifted slightly on his knees, his hands fidgeting and twisting in his lap. "I shouldn't even _be_ here... I'm taking a big risk even talking to you."

Obi-Wan looked up; blue-gray eyes meeting white ones in shared understanding.

"You're a prisoner too," he said sadly. It wasn't a question, but the other teen felt compelled to answer anyway.

"I suppose, yes," he replied. Obi-Wan nodded and then sighed heavily as he let hope out and reality in.

"You said your name was Adaenkinith?"

"Yeah, but you can call me Adaen."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Yeah, I know," Adaen answered rather sheepishly. At that he received a quizzical look from his, hopefully, new friend. "He... well, he talks about you... a lot."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So... why... does he keep you here?" Obi-Wan asked tentatively. Adaen ducked his head down suddenly fascinated by his well-worn boots.

"I was an orphan living on Nar Shadaa. I-I joined a gang, the Black Suns. In exchange for food and shelter they made me do little stuff for them because I was small and... well, innocent looking, I guess," he paused shaking his head. "Anyway, I was pick-pocketing for them outside one of the casinos and, well, I picked the wrong mark."

"You tried to pick-pocket Xanatos," Obi-Wan supplied. Adaen nodded.

"He stopped me, grabbed my arm so hard I thought it was going to break, then he loosened his hold a little and told me I was coming with him. I went with him... I thought..."

"You thought he was rescuing you," Obi-Wan once again filled in what was left unsaid and, once again, Adaen nodded.

"But he wasn't, not really. Now, I just do things for him instead of the Black Suns."

"Does... does he hurt you?" Obi-Wan asked. Adaen didn't look up, in fact, his eyes and head were lowered the entire conversation.

"A lot at first. Not so much now. After seven years, I guess I've kind of figured out how things work," he said then he finally looked up at the boy in the cell. "It's not all bad. Sometimes he's really nice to me. He teaches me stuff, tells me stories about the places he's been... it's nice," he said with the ghost of a smile, but after a moment it was gone. "But I know he doesn't actually care for me and that's okay, you know. I can live without it," he finished with a slight shrug. "It could be... It _has_ been a lot worse, so I can live with it."

Obi-Wan didn't say anything opting to pick at his toes instead. The truth was he knew exactly what Adaen felt. It was the same realization he had come to with his own master. In some ways, Adaen's enslavement seemed more honest than his apprenticeship. No. Former apprenticeship he reminded himself.

A shift from Adaen brought Obi-Wan temporarily from his grim musings as he watched the Rattataki rise to his feet.

"I should go. If I'm missed..." he began nervously. Obi-Wan nodded his understanding.

"Go. It's okay," he said then just as Adaen turned to leave he added. "Thank you."

"I will come back when I can," Adaen offered. Obi-Wan smiled lightly.

"I would like that."

* * *

Day 78

"Ugh," Obi-Wan hissed.

"Sorry," Adean answered as he continued to apply a sour smelling salve to Obi-Wan's new wounds. The young boy hissed again as Adaen's fingers ran over a particularly painful bruise on his ribcage.

The Gamorreans had arrived early that morning and seemed to be in a right foul mood. Not wasting time with discrete strikes punctuated by taunts, insults, and their porcinoid-like snorts, the pair of tusked behemoths immediately set to pummel the boy into a squishy sack of bone, blood, and bruises. When the finally tired and left him, someone else came to examine his injuries, "treating" him just enough to prevent infection and death. Some agonizing hours later, Adaen had managed to sneak in a visit carrying with him a pungent, but pain numbing cream.

"There. Give that a bit of time and you should feel at least a little better," Adaen said smiling weakly as he recapped the small container. Obi-Wan stretched himself stiffly, grimacing at the dull, sharp, and throbbing aches throughout his body. He leaned his back against a cell wall and allowed his muscles to relax a little. Adaen remained where he was, one knee bent up in front of him the other tucked under him as he sat back on his heel. He quietly picked at the fraying hem of one pant leg while he studied his friend.

"You still miss them, don't you?" he asked softly. Obi-Wan didn't bother with pretending not to understand.

"Very much."

"But... why?" Adaen asked unable to hide the staggering incredulity from his voice. He continued before Obi-Wan could answer. "They turned their back on you! They tricked you!" he cried as he rose to his feet and began to pace the length of the small room. "Xanatos told me what they did to him, how they tricked him and sent him on a mission to kill his own father... and when he wouldn't, when he couldn't they abandoned him!" he yelled. He stopped pacing and turned to face Obi-Wan. "And then they let this oh-so-dangerous dark Jedi take you, knowing that he would... would..."

"Hurt me?" Obi-Wan offered in a small voice. Adaen collapsed on the floor and nodded sullenly, his angry energy spent.

"Yes," he answered his head shaking as he still searched for understanding. "So, why do you miss them? I mean, they tricked you, the Jedi, the Council, they used you, Obi-Wan..."

"They're the only family I know," the former apprentice replied almost shamefully. Adaen shook his head.

"No. I don't remember much about my family. Most of my memories are of either life with Xanatos or the gang and I know both of them used me just like the Jedi used you, just like they used him. Family doesn't do that, Obi-Wan. They just... don't."

Obi-Wan didn't answer. He couldn't answer. There was no argument to refute Adaen's words because he was right. Obi-Wan never knew his family either, being taken to the Temple as an infant, but in his heart he still knew that his friend was right, that family didn't use each other, didn't trick each other, didn't abandon each other, and they definitely didn't leave each other to be purposefully abused by others.

Obi-Wan pulled his knees in tight to his chest, his arms wrapping fiercely around his own starved form.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Adaen said just barely more than whisper. "I shouldn't... It's not my place to,"

"It's alright," Obi-Wan interrupted. The two youths sat in silence for several minutes before Adaen reluctantly got to his feet and left the cell.

"I'll come back when I can," he said then he raised the ray shield and left the room.

* * *

Day 81

"Here. I managed to sneak a couple of ration bars from the stores."

"Thanks!"

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said before... you know about the Jedi..."

"It's fine. Just... just drop it."

"Okay, but I never meant that all Jedi were bad. I mean, you're nice and I think maybe Xanatos was nice once... a long time ago, and I know how both of you love this Jedi Jinn so I guess what I'm saying is... all Jedi aren't totally awful... just most of you. There. Done. Finished. Dropped. Promise."

Silence.

"What do you know of Master Jinn?"

"Only what I've heard him say. I know he raised him, cared for him, loved him. They were like father and son, I think. He doesn't like to show it, he doesn't think I see it, but, despite what the Council did to drive them apart and what he's become since... I can see how badly it hurt him..."

"It hurt my mas- Master Jinn too."

"Just like it's hurting you both now."

"No... It's different with me..."

"What do you mean?"

Pause.

"It's just... different. He _wanted_ Xanatos..."

"So, he didn't... Oh."

* * *

Day 87

"Ow!"

"Well if you stopped moving it would hurt less!"

"If it didn't hurt so much I wouldn't have to move!"

"There! Done! By the stars, Obi!"

Grumble.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Mumble.

"What?"

"I said thanks, okay?"

"Yeah well, you're welcome, you big baby."

Smile. Silence. Frown.

"Adaen?"

"Hmm?"

"He's never going to let me go, is he?"

"Is that what he told you?"

"Would it matter? It's not like I can trust anything he says."

Silence.

"Adaen,... do _you_ trust him?"

"I-I... trust him to look after his own interests."

"That's not trust."

Pause.

"If you get too close to a red-tail scorpin what can you trust it to do?"

"Sting you, of course."

"Exactly."

* * *

Day 92

"Still sore?"

"A little," Obi-Wan said as he rotated and stretched his joints and limbs. It had been several days since his last visit from the guards and his body was enjoying the brief respite to heal itself, though without the Force the process was painful and slow going.

"I still have some salve left, but... maybe I could try to sneak some bacta..."

"No," Obi-Wan told the other boy flatly as he stopped his motions and looked directly into his pale eyes. "That's far too much of a risk. It would be noticed immediately if any went missing... besides, if I heal too fast that would get noticed too."

"I know," Adaen replied sullenly. "I just hate... this," he said waving his hands around to augment his statement and his displeasure. Obi-Wan just sighed, his shoulders slumping forward.

"I know, but you're the only thing making this bearable. I don't want to see anything happen to you," he finished. Adaen laughed ruefully.

"I was thinking the same thing about you," he said then both teens sat in companionable silence for several minutes before Adaen began to rise to his feet. "I should go," he said and then it seemed like all the air rushed out of the room. Both boys were stunned into silence as the outer door slid open and Xanatos stepped inside.

"Leaving so soon?" he said calmly. As if the sound of his master's voice snapped him out of his panicked stupor, Adaen walked out of the cell and knelt before Xanatos.

"My master, I was just checking on your prisoner to make sure that he was not overly damaged by the guards," he offered, his gaze settled squarely and submissively on the floor.

"No one asked you to do that, Ratare," Xanatos replied never taking his eyes off of Obi-Wan who was still seated in the cell though the shield was not yet reactivated.

"No, my master, but I was only looking after your interests... I hoped it would please you..." Adaen said contritely. Finally Xanatos deigned to look down upon his servant. He put a hooked finger under the boy's chin and gently tilted his head up so that they were looking each other in the eyes. Then Xanatos sighed.

"Oh, if only that were true, Ratare," he said not unkindly. There was a moment of stillness, of quiet, but even with the Force collar on Obi-Wan could feel the promise of danger inherent in that single moment. He jumped to his feet and tried to a make a run for the door of the cell, but Xanatos was faster and suddenly the thin red skin of the ray shield was in place blocking Obi-Wan from both freedom or helping his friend who now was the subject of Xanatos's attention.

The dark haired ex-Jedi raised his hand curling his fingers in the air as if grasping something. Immediately, Adaen's hands went to his throat, his lungs tightening and seizing as they searched for air that did not come.

"Stop! No! Please! Don't hurt him!" Obi-Wan yelled, as angry at his own powerlessness as he was at Xanatos's cruelty.

"Sorry, little padawan, but Ratare here has broken the rules and must be punished accordingly. Isn't that right, Ratare?" he asked coldly as he released his Force grip on the boy's throat. Adaen fell to the floor gasping for breath.

"Y-Yes... my... ma-master..." he rasped out weakly. With that Xanatos turned and walked out of the room, Adaen following meekly behind. Just before the door closed Adaen glanced over his shoulder. Obi-Wan's and his eyes met for a moment then he turned away and was gone.


	15. Escapism

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1. Jedi Master Vresh Tivi, Padawan Lantis Mir, and Adaenkinith Ryl are my OCs. Other minor OCs are Jedi Healer Ar Songe, Knight Cib-Tan, Padawan Eudo Orn and Enredar Shirperna.

**A/N:** Here's chapter fifteen and the end of the... let's call it a rewind. After this and from now on the story only moves forward in time. Will things get better for our favorite padawan or are his trials just truly beginning? Only one way to know for sure. Read on!

**Thanks:**

Capurnia: Yeah, _suspecting_ what happened during those 102 days of captivity and _knowing_ what happened during those days are two very different things. Poor Obi indeed, but at least he is out of Xanatos's clutches... right?

_If the Jedi are the servants of the Force, then writers are the servants of reviews!_

**Please R&R!**

**Chapter 15 – Escapism **

Day 94

The body can sustain an active state of anxiety only for a so long before rapidly depleting resources demand an end to sweaty palms, roiling stomachs, tight chests, and an overabundance of adrenaline and neurotransmitters coursing unchecked through the blood stream. Eventually, the body calms down, yields, subject to the strictures of its own physicality, but the mind... the mind is not so easily brought to heel. It can wallow in its disquiet, conjure disconsolate images, and repeatedly review doleful scenarios. It can brood interminably drawing life from the vast well of the soul, consuming and destroying the whole one melancholic thought at a time.

Such was the pitiful state of one Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It had been two days since Xanatos discovered Adaen in his cell. He had heard _nothing _since then, not even some cruel mocking from Xanatos and it was the silence that terrified him all the more; leaving his grim imaginings free reign to visit all manner of horrors on his worried thoughts.

Obi-Wan wearily rubbed his eyes with the back of his scarred hands. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh that at any other time would have bordered on the melodramatic as he tried to relax his tired body and still his frantic mind. The door suddenly hissed open. The figure that darted inside immediately brought Obi-Wan to his feet and up to the cell door.

"Adaen!" he all but yelled. Obi-Wan took a moment to take in his friend. He looked worn down, exhausted, with dark circles around his eyes and a forlorn expression on his face, but he could see no cuts, no wounds, abrasions, or bruises, no visible signs of abuse. Obi-Wan decided to believe that it was a good thing, but the look in Adaen's eyes forced him to doubt that assumption.

"Adaen?"

"I don't have a lot of time," the other boy answered, his voice just above a whisper. "I just came to tell you that... whatever happens... it's not your fault okay?"

Obi-Wan frowned and stared at his friend.

"Adaen, what's going to happen? What is he going to do?" he asked, but the Rattataki shook his head warding off the desperate questions.

"Just promise me you won't blame yourself."

"Adaen, I,"

"Promise me!" he yelled. Obi-Wan bit his lip and held back the protestation on his tongue. Slowly he nodded his acquiescence.

"I-I promise," he said. Adaen nodded with a small and rueful smile then he darted out the room; gone as suddenly as he had come. Obi-Wan hoped that the somber observation did not prove portentous of their relationship. He was more afraid now than ever of what Xanatos might be capable of. What he had done to Obi-Wan had been done out of some twisted sense of pleasure; a perverse attempt at artistry, but with Adaen... Xanatos would be furious and knowing what he had been willing to inflict in joy, Obi-Wan scarcely wanted to consider what the dark Jedi might impose in rage. And despite what he said, what promises he had made to his friend, Obi-Wan knew the truth.

Anything that happened to Adaen would be his fault.

* * *

Day 95

They came for him early the next morning. The Gamorreans did not wait for the possibility of compliance, opting instead to immediately assail the young boy with electrostaffs set on nearly the highest level. By the time the guards began dragging him down the halls, Obi-Wan was struggling to remain conscious and cognizant of his surroundings. He was pulled into a familiar large room, but this time he was placed in a simple wooden chair, his ankles, legs, waist, chest, wrists, and head placed roughly into leather restraints. Before him the pale figure of a nude Rattataki male hung from all too familiar durasteel chains in the center of the room. Hesitant blue-gray eyes rose to meet despondent white ones.

"Adaen."

"Obi-Wan."

"I'm so sorry," Obi-Wan whispered, but the young man shook his head.

"No. Not your fault, remember?"

"On the contrary, I believe this is entirely the little padawan's fault," Xanatos sneered, his slightly lilting cultured voice carrying effortlessly across the wide room. Still dressed in his customary black togs the ex-Jedi sauntered over to where his teenage slave lay suspended from the ceiling. He reached out and cupped the young man's hairless chin in his hand.

"Indeed, I fear that were it not for the influence of you, my little padawan, my poor, loyal Ratare would not be in such a dire predicament, hmm? But," Xanatos continued. "I don't suppose, in the end, it really matters. I will miss you though, my pet," he finished as he patted Adaen on the cheek. Obi-Wan felt his heart nearly seize at Xanatos's choice of words.

"What do you mean you will miss him? What are you planning to do?" he asked quietly. Xanatos gifted him with a slightly bemused expression.

"My servant has disobeyed me. He betrayed me. There can be only one response," he paused and then turned to look directly at Obi-Wan. "Death."

"No!" Obi-Wan yelled as he pulled futilely against his restraints. "Please!"

"Please what, little padawan?" the dark Jedi inquired innocently. Obi-Wan took a deep breath. He was prepared to give him what he wanted. He would beg, plead, prostrate himself before his jailor if it meant sparing his friend's life.

"Please, do not kill him. I beg you," Obi-Wan stated humbly. Xanatos studied the boy silently for several seconds before answering.

"What are you willing to give me in return for his life?"

"What do you want of me?"

"First, you must admit your guilt in this," he replied coolly. Obi-Wan nodded. That was easily done as he knew he was in fact responsible for Adaen's predicament.

"Adaenkinith is your loyal servant. It is because of my influence, my selfish attempts to turn him to my side that he has acted against you, his lord and master."

"Obi-Wan, no!" Adaen yelled, but the other teen ignored him, his gaze locked onto Xanatos's cold blue eyes.

"His failure is my fault and I take full responsibility for my actions. I ask you, no I beg you, please spare him. Punish me instead. I am to blame. Exact your punishment on me."

"That was well said, little padawan, well said indeed... and... I admit your words have swayed me," he paused, "to a point."

"What more must I do?" Obi-Wan asked soberly.

"Well, my little padawan, while it is true that it was your influence that corrupted my servant, he still is far from blameless. Some degree of punishment is warranted and must be meted out, but I have decided that he need not die provided _you_ are willing to take responsibility with more than just pretty words," he responded. Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to wear a mildly bewildered frown. Xanatos flicked his wrist in Obi-Wan's direction and, with a touch of the Force, instantly all of the chair's leather restraints flew open. The boy leaned forward tentatively instinctively flexing and rotating his newly freed wrists and ankles. Xanatos reached under his ebon cloak and brought forth a small cylindrical object which he held out to the confused teen. Obi-Wan reached out and took his lightsaber from the man, eyes wide in question. Xanatos stepped back, one hand resting casually on his hip over his own saber in clear warning.

"You want to spare his life?" Xanatos asked.

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered.

"Then _you_ will punish him," Xanatos intoned. "Burn him as I burned you. It will be a reminder as to whom he belongs."

Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide in panic and disbelief. His left hand floated up to his chest, his fingertips ghosting across the rough scar tissue of his broken circle burn. He shuddered involuntarily at the light contact.

"No," he barely more then muttered, "I can't."

Xanatos sighed heavily.

"I thought you wanted him to live. I thought you were truly willing to face your responsibility in this," he said. "Perhaps I was wrong."

"Please," Obi-Wan whimpered softly. "There must be another way."

"No, little padawan. This is your choice, burn him or bury him."

Obi-Wan's stomach was instantly filled with lead, his chest felt locked in a vice, his thoughts caught in a maelstrom of aching emotion. How could he do this? How could he not? He looked down at the saber hilt in his hand. After several moments he slowly raised his eyes to meet the steady gaze of his friend. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly.

"Adaen... forgive me," he murmured. Adaen in turn nodded his acceptance, his eyes showing only solemn understanding of his friend's impossible decision and somber resignation to his fate. Obi-Wan ignited his saber, the familiar blue collimated energy sparking to life in his tremulous grasp. He took several deep breaths to steady himself knowing that shaky hands would only make matters worse for his friend. Xanatos regarded him coolly.

"You must draw your blade slowly or else you will have to retrace the line over again," he offered his voice so casual and calm it seemed all the more cruel. With grim determination Obi-Wan lifted his saber. Adaen closed his eyes.

Then the screaming began.

* * *

Day 96

Obi-Wan Kenobi was soul sick. That was the only word for it. His hand, his saber, his fault... Adaen's screams. That was the sum and total of Obi-Wan's world; his guilt and Adaen's cries of torment. He was more than simply guilty though. He was complicit in Xanatos's acts of cruelty. Not quite a servant of darkness, perhaps, but far, far the child of light he once was. The taint of it all sickened him and he knew there was nothing he could ever do to excoriate the soul deep stain of his actions.

He had intentionally inflicted pain on another living being, with his hands, with his saber...

* * *

Day 99

Obi-Wan stood once again before Xanatos. Well, perhaps stood wasn't quite the right word. Cowered before him would have been more accurate. Knelt. Crawled on hands and knees. Panting. Humiliated.

Xanatos had come to his cell in what he figured was the middle of the night rudely awakening the teen with a jolt of pain from the electro-pulsar built into his Force collar. Obi-Wan was immediately pulled out of slumber by the sensation of being on fire, his every nerve lit up like a star gone supernova under his skin charring his very bones and boiling his internal organs in their own fluids. All the while the man asked him questions, yelled at him demanding responses that Obi-Wan was barely coherent enough to give.

"You still haven't learned have you, my little padawan? What's today's lesson, hmm?" he barked as he pressed the button on his remote again sending Obi-Wan's body into painful convulsions. Finally he let go and the boy struggled to catch his breath and clear his head. He lay on the floor unable to move. Even his thoughts seemed to ache under the constant strain of his torture.

"What is today's lesson, little padawan?"

"I-I... I don't... know..." the boy gasped. He shrieked as another wave of agony tore through his limbs causing to him writhe aimlessly on the cold cell floor. Xanatos released the button.

"The lesson?"

"Please...," Obi-Wan sobbed, "I don't know... I don't know what you want..."

"I want the truth, padawan. The real truth."

"The... truth? About what?"

"Your real truth. The fact that you still believe someone will rescue you, that you still believe you won't stay here with me forever."

"I don't..."

"You're lying, little padawan," he said as he pressed the button again and again white hot agony raced through Obi-Wan's veins. He held it down for much longer this time. When he finally released the button, Obi-Wan's body revolted; his stomach wrenching and spasming, vomiting up what precious little food and water he had been given earlier.

"You still carry hope in your heart, little padawan..."

"...No..." he whispered. Again and again the button was depressed, held for longer and longer increments with each denial. Each jagged burst of pain tore a scream from his rapidly rawing and abused throat. Finally the torment proved too much and Obi-Wan felt himself slipping towards the welcomed arms of oblivion.

"Oh no you don't," he heard a voice say from somewhere in the distance. Then he felt something cold pressed against his thigh followed by a sharp poke. For a moment he thought the assault was over and he waited patiently, longingly to enter that numbing blackness, but instead he found his heart was racing, his limbs itching and twitching, his mind forced back to pain ridden consciousness.

"No!" he yelled as even this small escape was denied him.

"You think there is still hope for you!"

"I-I..." he stuttered only to descend once again into incoherent shrieks of suffering.

"What do you believe, little padawan? Tell me!" Xanatos demanded as he pressed the button once more. Another scream ripped from the boy's wretched form.

"...no... hope..."

"What did you say?"

"...no hope... nothing left... nothing..." Obi-Wan whispered more to himself than to Xanatos. The ex-Jedi smiled.

"I almost believe you," he said pressing the electro-pulsar into action again, but also pressing a different button on the remote.

_Padawan!_ His master called out to him over the now open bond, but Obi-Wan did not hear him, could not hear him for the blinding torment of the device.

_Padawan!_

Obi-Wan couldn't even scream, his body too wrecked to give further voice to his agony. Only his mind continued to protest, his face frozen in a silent mask of anguish.

_P-Please! Please... make it stop... Anything... do anything... to stop... P-Please..._

_Padawan! Hang on, please! I'm here! I am with you! You are not alone! Do you hear me? Obi-Wan, you are not alone!_ His master begs to be heard, but nothing can get through to the boy now. All he is is now centered on one desperate plea.

_M-Make it... s-stop... P-Please... just let me die... I-I can't... anymore... J-Just let me die... P-Please..._

_Obi-Wan! No!_

_...let me die... Force... let me die..._

* * *

Day 102

He knew it when he saw the boy that morning lying quiet and still in the middle of the cell. He knew he didn't need to call for his guards. He didn't even need his handy remote. Looking at boy in the cell he knew that today was the day. The boy was ready. Today his real plans could begin.

"Wake up, little padawan. We have so much to do," he said casually. Obi-Wan sat up from his prone position on the floor, silently regarding his captor. Xanatos deactivated the ray shield and gestured for the boy to come forward. He rose to his feet slowly, his body stiff from being in the same position for so long. Without a word or sound he approached the ex-Jedi, his gaze set on some distant point reaching off into nowhere. With no prompting or painful enticements, Obi-Wan allowed himself to be led down the hallway moving, for once, by his own power and on his own volition. In silence the pair entered the large oval dueling room they had used twice before. Once again Xanatos placed a collar around his own neck and handed the boy his lightsaber. Obi-Wan took the offering, holding it limply in one hand his brow furrowed as he gazed upon it as if he didn't know what exactly it was he was holding. Perhaps he didn't.

It didn't matter really.

Nothing did. Not anymore.

Xanatos ignited his blade and raised it in salute, but Obi-Wan made no move to either ignite his saber or return the ritual sparing salutation. He simply stood there, staring at nothing.

"Prepare yourself, little padawan," Xanatos sneered. Obi-Wan blinked. Xanatos stepped closer to him, his blade still lit. "I said prepare yourself!" he yelled as he viciously backhanded the youth. The strike caused the boy to stagger backwards several steps, his cheek a red flame of pain, but he kept his feet and his silence.

"Too pathetic to even fight back?" Xanatos smirked as he grabbed the boy's saber arm by the wrist. "You are a perpetual disappointment," he crooned oily in Obi-Wan's ear, then he gave the captured arm a sharp, hard angled twist ripping the teen's shoulder deliberately from its socket eliciting a gasp from the child, but nothing more. Unsatisfied Xanatos turned the arm again, this time at the wrist. He rotated it further and further until he heard the satisfying snap of bone under his vice-like grip. Again, the boy gritted his teeth, a hard grimace on his face, but no sound escaped. Xanatos released the boy's arm suddenly causing him to lose his balance and fall gracelessly to the floor. The ex-Jedi stared down at the teen and for several moments neither moved nor spoke until finally Xanatos placed his saber back on his hip and picked up Obi-Wan's from where it tumbled from his grasp. He placed it one his hip as well then crossed his arms across his chest. He casually reached into a pouch on his belt and removed a small silver syringe.

"I don't think I like this silent padawan. Let's see if I can help you find your voice again..."

* * *

"Stars above! Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan, say something!"

Obi-Wan didn't say anything. He didn't do anything. He simply lay there on his cell floor feeling and yet somehow not feeling the numerous abuses Xanatos had once again inflicted on his weary body. When he heard the familiar voice asking him to speak he simply ignored it. Even when Adaen's slightly blurry face filled his vision, Obi-Wan simply couldn't muster something within himself to respond. He learned that he preferred the silence he held both from within and without.

Adaen continued to mutter curses under his breath as he appraised the body before him. He looked down on Obi-Wan's face and saw the blank, defeated expression in those blue-gray eyes and made a decision. He rose from the cell and disappeared out the door for several minutes before returning with a clean tunic, leggings and an old cloak. As quickly and as carefully as he could he dressed the young Jedi in the borrowed clothes; the only acknowledgement given a hiss or two of pain from the physical manipulation.

"Come on, Obi. You have to help me. I can't carry you out," Adaen pleaded as he tried to pull his friend's dead weight to his feet. Thankfully at least this request was answered, not verbally, but with Obi-Wan's assistance in standing and awkwardly moving on his own.

"I'm getting you out of here... I'm just sorry that I waited so long...," Adaen whispered as he looked into the eyes of his friend. The despondency he saw in those crystalline orbs frightened him, but also served to strengthen his resolve. Carefully, the Rattataki led them out of the building, pausing at times to avoid a guard or security measure. They finally exited on the roof of what appeared to be a small building within Coruscant's industrial complex on the middle levels. There was a non-descript air taxi waiting. Adaen pushed Obi-Wan into the front passenger seat before climbing into the pilot's seat and taking off from the rooftop platform at breakneck speed.

In the far off distance ahead of them, one could just make out the spires of the Jedi Temple.


End file.
